


Behind the First Avenger

by Thebowandthebook



Series: Beneath the Heroes [1]
Category: Agent Carter (TV), Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-15
Updated: 2019-12-21
Packaged: 2020-06-28 16:17:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 24,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19815919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thebowandthebook/pseuds/Thebowandthebook
Summary: Elizabeth Barnes's idyllic life dissolves when the second World War breaks out across Europe. As those she loves are called into service, Eliza remains on the home front awaiting the day for her soldiers to come home. Recovering from a devastating tragedy, Eliza forms a new life accepting that her soldiers will never return.





	1. The Beginning of the End

July 12th, 1943: Eliza  
“What happened to you?” Eliza Barnes stares at her husband in dismay as Bucky Barnes and Steve Rogers enter the small apartment in North Brooklyn. Identifying a bruise forming on Steve’s face, she wrinkles her brow and sets the wooden spoon on the edge of the stove. “Let me get some ice for you.”  
“Nothing.”  
“Doesn’t look like nothing to me. What alley was it today, Bucky?”  
“Found him outside the theater,” Bucky responds hanging his officer’s hat on the small rack near the door.  
“The guy was making fun of the troops.” Steve wheezes.  
“And it was your personal duty to defend them?”  
“Actually, yes, it was.”  
“Here.” Eliza hands a chunk of ice wrapped in a towel to Steve. “Buck, go get cleaned up. If we are going to make it to the expo on time, you two need to eat.” Untying her apron, she hangs it over the back of the chair and disappears into the one lone bedroom. Bucky dishes up two bowls of stew for the pair, his eyes scanning his apartment, engraving the picture into his mind.  
“I’m really going to miss this,” he says as he sits down at the table, handing one bowl of stew to Steve who immediately takes a bite of the filling broth.  
“Eliza’s cooking? Yeah, me too.” Steve takes another bite of stew.  
“Come by and keep her company, Steve. Take her to the pictures, out for ice cream, and make her get out of the house.” Bucky orders. “Just look out for her.”  
“Ice cream and the movies.” Steve nods sarcastically. “Got it.”  
“Don’t bother, if you’re going to be a dead rat.”  
Eliza comes into the kitchen again, a light layer of makeup on her face. “I’ll meet you boys at the expo. Don’t be late.”  
“We won’t.” Bucky smiles up at her and kisses her hand. Letting herself out the front door, she smiles back at the two.  
\------  
“Hey, Bucky!” Eliza calls over to Bucky, from across the square. “We’re going to miss it!”  
“We’re coming,” he yells back. Around them the crowd ebbs and flows, the mass of people never moving in the same direction. Dodging to the side here, and the other side there, Bucky and Steve reach the girls in a manner of seconds.  
“Steve, this is Charlotte. Charlotte, Steve.” Bucky hastily makes introductions before dragging his giggling wife alongside him. Making a quick stop at the popcorn cart, the group rushes across the Modern Marvel Pavilion to get front row views of the Stark presentation. As the music starts, Eliza clasps her hand together.  
On the stage a group of showgirls enter, strutting to stand in front of a red car. Accompanied by a jaunty fanfare, one of the girls introduces the honored guest of the evening.  
As his name is called, a dapper man sidles onto the stage, grinning cheekily at the audience as he swings one of the showgirls in for a kiss. Wiping his mouth with a handkerchief, Howard Stark plunges into his presentation. “Ladies and Gentlemen, what if I told you that in just a few short years, your automobile won’t even have to touch the ground at all.”  
On cue, the showgirls strut away from the red car, each prancing away with a tire in their hands. “Yes. Thank you, Mandy.” Howard Stark steps to the side of the car.  
Laying a hand on the podium next to him, he faces the audience. “With Stark Robotic Reversion technology, you’ll be able to do just that.” He slides a lever on the podium upwards and with a loud hum, the car gently rises off the ground. It rises slowly, first a few inches, then a few more, until it is over a foot above the platform.  
“Holy cow.” Bucky breathes. The amazement in his eyes is mirrored in Eliza’s own.  
With a shuttering groan, the repulsors begin to emit sparks. Moments later the repulsors cut out and the car clatters to the ground, sparks spinning across the stage. Startled, Howard and the audience flinch back.  
Howard recovers quickly and grins out at the audience. “Well I did say a few years, didn’t I?” He asks, leaning against the podium.  
Eliza applauds, her body pressed against her husband. Feeling Bucky shift, she traces her gaze to see the empty spot where Steve was standing.  
“I’ll be right back.”  
Eliza nods, her motherly instinct triggered at Steve’s disappearance. Reminding herself that Steve is old enough to be out of her sight she links arms with Charlotte.  
“That was awesome!” She gushes. “Do you really think it’ll ever work?”  
Charlotte sniffs. “You won’t find me in one of them.”  
“Come on Lottie, when Bucky gets back we’ll fly around the city on one of those. Think about it, it’ll be amazing.”  
“You two were made for each other. What’s with the kid? I thought Buck was bringing one of his soldier friends.”  
“Steve’s a great guy. Give him a chance, Lottie, he’ll surprise you.”  
“Sorry, I don't date guys shorter than me.” Eliza frowns as they stop by a pillar opposite to a recruiting center.  
“Is he trying to enlist?”  
“For the fourth time, I believe.”  
“Poor kid. Where we going to dance?”  
“Not sure, Bucky wanted to surprise us.” Eliza watches as the two men argue, replaying a scene that had been repeated far too often. “They've argued enough for Bucky’s last night home,” she mutters. “Sarge! Are we going dancin’?”  
“You bet!”  
Bucky gives Steve a hug before jaunting back towards them. “You girls ready?” Slinging his arm around her, they head off.  
“Can't babysit the punk forever.”  
“I guess you're right.” Eliza concedes.  
“Aren't I always?”  
“Just keeping thinking that.”  
\---  
As the night comes to a close, Eliza and Bucky return to their small apartment. Flipping on the lights, Bucky settles down on the sofa. “That last song was a winner.”  
“A dance to remember.” Eliza settles next to her husband, a piece of bread and margarine in her hands.  
“Ahh.” Bucky opens his mouth for a bite, crumbs dropping onto his uniform. Eliza brushes them away gently. She rests her hand on his chest and drops her head to his shoulder.  
“Bucky, I have something to tell you.” Her voice is soft, almost hesitant.  
Bucky cups her hand in his, closing his eyes as he leans against her. “What is it, darling?”  
“I wanted to tell you earlier, but it just didn't seem like the right time.”  
“What’s up?” He turns his face down at her.  
Eliza bites her lip. “I'm pregnant.”  
A grin splits Bucky’s face in half. “Holy cow. That's amazing.” He springs up, dragging her behind him. “I'm going to be a father!”  
Eliza smiles, barely masking the worried expression that had lingered on her brow, as he spins her around. Bucky slows and pulls her close. “I'll be fine, Elizabeth Barnes. I'll be back in time to teach that little boy how to hit a home run.”  
“Little boy? It might be a girl.” Eliza protests.  
“It's going to be a boy, I bet you a dollar.”  
“Bucky! Don’t bet on our child!”  
His dimples appear as he hums the last song of the night under his breath. “I love you, Eliza.”  
“I love you too, James Barnes.”


	2. Another Goodbye

\---  
Eliza knocks on the rickety door of Steve’s apartment the next morning. Trying the handle and finding it locked, she bends over and kicks aside the cinder block hiding a spare key. Entering the one-roomed home, she looks around sadly. “Poor kid,” she says as she begins collecting the few dishes littered around the room. As she cleans the dishes, she begins humming, thinking of Bucky. She'd look out for Steve for him, and hopefully try to dissuade Steve from leaving home. Clearing off the rough table she straightens a stack of papers, her eye catching an enlistment form. “New Haven, eh? Steve—” she breaks off as she sees a signature at the bottom of the page. “No. Oh my—no. Not Steve.” She sinks down onto the chair, biting back angry tears.  
A minute later a key turns in the lock and Steve pushes his front door open. “Eliza, what are you doing here?” He asks congenially.  
“Steven Grant Rogers, you want to tell me what this is about?” Eliza snaps, her voice hurdling over her raw vocal cords.  
“What?”  
“These forms.” Eliza holds up the papers. “First Bucky, now you.”  
“I told you I wouldn't stop trying to join up,” Steve says, crossing his arms.  
“You can't go,” Eliza says decisively, her own arms folded across her chest.  
“It's done, Eliza.”  
“What idiot signed off on your papers?” She asks, not waiting for an answer. “You can't join the army.”  
“And why not?”  
“You're too sick.” Eliza slams the paper down, tears pouring out of her eyes. “I can't lose you too.”  
“Eliza, I have to do this. I thought you supported my trying.”  
“Only when I knew you weren't actually going to be accepted.”  
Steve grows red and clenches his fists. “I can't stay at home while others die in my place.” He sucks in a lungful of air, only to begin coughing. Eliza rises, swiveling to fill a glass of water from the facet. Steve’s cheeks blossom into shades of violet as he attempts to regulate the hacking fit. Eliza presses the water into his hands and watches through steely eyes as Steve straightens himself. When his breathing normalizes, she shakes her head.  
“You're just going to end up dead yourself,” Eliza says, pushing past him and out of the apartment.  
\---  
Steve stands on the walkway outside of Eliza and Bucky’s apartment. Shifting from side to side he raises his fist and knocks again on the door. “Eliza, my train leaves in half an hour. Let me in, please,” he calls when Eliza doesn’t respond to his knocks.  
Thirty seconds tick past before the latch is released and Eliza steps backward to let Steve into the humid apartment. Her red-rimmed eyes are dry and a worried crease in her brow has replaced the angry scowl. “Steve—” she begins.  
“I'm sorry, Eliza,” he says. “I'm sorry I can't watch out for you. But—”  
“I know.” Eliza cuts him off. “Here take these.” She hands him two books. “You borrow them often enough.”  
The books are worn, spines cracking from use. Steve runs a finger over the titles and smiles at Eliza. “Thank you.”  
Her eyes soften, and she pulls him in for a hug. Her arms encircle his fragile frame as if she was embracing a child. They separate, her blinking back the returning tears, him fidgeting, neither wanting him to walk away. The clock in the apartment chimes the hour and Eliza drags her fingers across her eyes, clearing away the tears.  
“If you're still stateside come visit me when the baby is born.” She says, instinctively laying her hands over her stomach.  
“The baby?” Steve asks, bewilderment flooding his face.  
“The baby.” Eliza nods to the door. “You better go before you miss your train. Be safe, Steve.”  
“Yes, ma'am.” He salutes, his scrawny arm shaking in the solemn position.  
\----  
Dear Bucky,  
I miss you. It’s been a whole two days since you left and I cannot express how much I miss you. I’m certain you won’t get this letter for weeks, but I’m writing it anyway.  
I thought I was lucky not getting nauseous and sick while being pregnant, but I’m paying for the presumption that I wouldn’t get sick. The day after you left I could barely get out of bed I felt so bad. Your mom has been amazing, she brought me soup and checked in on my every few hours during the day.  
I know you said I should tell my parents about the baby, but I really don’t want to. Not yet anyway. They’ll find out eventually, but telling my mom involves going by the house; because if I don’t tell her in person, well, she’s particular. I’ll tell her on her next visit, which since she visited the day before you left is still days away. Eleven amazing days without her hovering over me.  
I know you’re laughing. You think it’s funny that she is so caught up in every single aspect of my life. At least during her biweekly visits. I, however, can’t escape to your parent’s apartment every time she starts annoying me, like you do. Well, that’s one perk of being shipped abroad, you don’t have to worry about those visits. Just pray for me as I suffer through all these visits solo. Maybe I can bribe Nancy to stop in during her visit.  
I’ve been thinking about names. How about if it is a boy naming him after his father? Have I told you how much I love the name James? We could call him Jamie or JB or even Junior. For a girl, I really liked Bonnie. Your mom suggested Carol or Louise. You should ask the men in your company what they think and get back to me. I value your opinion very highly concerning this matter.  
I want to write more and continue having conversations with you in my head, but I’m feeling sick again so I’ll sign off for now. Don’t worry about me, I’ll be fine. Ruth says I won’t be sick for too many more weeks, and I’m holding her to that.  
Love,  
Eliza


	3. Opportunities

“It's a simple job. The pay is good and it'll give you something to do.” Nancy Barnes urges over a cup of tea and some biscuits. In the week since the boys have left, Eliza’s pregnancy has become more obvious. Morning sickness combined with worry has left her alone in the apartment for many hours of the day. Rings of indigo color the sagging skin beneath her eyes.   
“I just don't think it's my thing,” Eliza responds, taking a quick sip of tea, the hot water scalding her tongue. The tea continues to seep as Eliza laces her fingers around the mug.   
“This is a great opportunity.” Nancy presses, sliding another biscuit off of the serving plate and onto her own.   
Eliza looks dubious at her sister-in-law’s suggestion. “Antiques? I don’t know the first thing about them.”  
“They can’t be too hard to learn. But the job will be easy enough, lots of book work and not a lot of lifting. You can at least go speak to the owner, I hear she’s rather particular so you may not even get the job.”  
Eliza tries to hide the twinkle entering her eyes. “Alright. But only if you come as moral support.”  
“I wouldn't skip it.” Nancy promises. Her battle having been conquered, she swiftly changes the subject. “How’re your parents doing?”  
Eliza laughs. The sound isn’t melodious. The laugh is infused with bitterness and pain. “The same. Dad’s always gone and Mom throws parties. For the war effort of course. She stops in every two weeks or so. Lately, the gentle proddings of how I should come home for a visit have become more and more like forceful nudges.”  
“I can only imagine what excuses she comes up with to bring you home.”  
“Last time it was a fundraiser for the war effort and she wanted me to come speak to the group about being a young soldier’s wife.”   
Nancy’s eyes grow to the size of saucers. “She didn’t suggest that.”  
“Yes, she did. But at least she’s accepted our marriage. It took her almost two years to refer to Bucky as my husband.”  
“I remember. Well, maybe one of these days she actually will stop antagonizing you.”  
“The hard part is that I know she loves me but she just doesn’t respect me as a woman. I’m still the little girl she raised and when I’m talking to her I revert back to that no matter how hard I try not to. I still sound like a child talking to her.” Eliza kneads her napkin in her hands as she speaks. By the time she concludes venting her frustrations, the starch so dutifully applied has been rendered inefficient.   
“That’s tough.” Nancy looks around, trying to broach another subject. “Tom’s been pestering me to have you over, won’t you come and see the new place? Mary has been dying to have some company.”  
Eliza lays the napkin on the table top, her cheeks still burning from her undesired outburst. “I suppose.”  
Nancy tightens her lip in a judgmental smirk. “When was the last time you were out of this apartment?”  
“Ruth has had me up for dinner a number of times lately.”  
“You left this apartment, went up three flights of stairs to your in-laws and then returned. That doesn’t qualify as out.” Nancy argues. As Eliza’s eyes wander away from her face, Nancy snaps her finger in front of Eliza’s nose. “Bucky would agree with me.”  
Eliza scowls at Nancy, trying to avoid being influenced by the other woman’s guilt trip. She fails. “When would work for you for me to come over?”  
“Tomorrow after the job hunting.”  
“Alright.” Eliza concedes, taking a soothing sip of tea.   
\---  
The next afternoon Eliza and Nancy enter the small antique shop. Out front, a small Help Wanted sign is displayed, tucked behind a rocking chair and a case of cigars.   
From behind the counter, an elderly woman in her late sixties smiles at the newcomers. “May I help you?” She asks.   
“Yes.” Nancy takes point. “My friend here wishes to inquire about the position advertised.”  
The woman glances past Nancy to Eliza. Eliza stands silent under scrutiny. “Does your friend have a name?”  
“Elizabeth Barnes,” Eliza says with the speed of a bullet before Nancy can speak for her. “I should say off the bat that I've never worked with antiques.”  
The woman nods. “Not many have. Are you married?”  
“Yes, ma'am. Sergeant Barnes is serving overseas in the 107th.”  
“Any other family?”  
“Baby Barnes is coming in about five months.”  
The woman nods again. “How often do you write to your husband?”  
“Daily.” Eliza responds, meeting the storekeeper’s eyes without faltering.   
“Parents name and your father's occupation?”  
“Mildred Black Phillips and Chester Phillips. He's an officer in the army.”  
“What rank?”  
“Colonel.”   
The woman scans Eliza, taking in every detail and looking down at her book again. Silently, she flips through the pages. Both guests wait, their patience gradually eroding. Snapping the book shut the woman looks up at the two. She proceeds to ask a number of questions, guiding a short discussion. Ten to fifteen minutes later, the woman lays her hands on top of her books. “Very well. You may have the job.”  
“Is that it then?” Nancy asks.   
“Yes. Come back in an hour, Elizabeth, and we can get to know each other over a cup of tea.” The woman nods before moving into the back room.   
Nancy grabs Eliza's arm and squeezes it tight before dragging her out of the shop. “You got it!” She squeals.   
“Was that normal?” Eliza blinks in the sudden sunlight. She raises her hands to shelter her eyes from the glare.   
Nancy nods. “The questions? Oh yes, especially these days. I'll take you out to lunch, my treat. Looks like we’ll have to postpone dinner tonight.”   
After a quick sandwich stop with Nancy, Eliza returns to the shop. “Hello, dear. If you would take a seat back here.” The woman motions to a small table set to the side and behind the register.   
Following the lady, Eliza throws a smile back at an exuberant Nancy who waves through the window.   
“Your friend seems very excited for you.” The lady remarks, settling herself on a chair facing the door.   
“It was her idea, for me to get a job. She says I needed to get out of the house.” Eliza explains.   
“Are you living alone?”  
“Yes, ma'am.”  
“How old are you?”  
“Twenty.”  
“When did your husband ship out?”  
“Seven days ago,” Eliza says quickly. From the backroom, a kettle begins to sing.   
The women's eyes soften, “Would you like some tea?”  
“That would be nice.”   
“My name is Anne.” The owner introduces herself before picking up the steaming kettle. “I own the shop and operate it alone.” Anne hands a cup of tea to Eliza. “We have quite a base of operations here.”  
“Base of operations?”  
“Although I own the shop alone, there is a part of the shop being leased out by the US Army, so we will have many visitors come in and need to be escorted down.”  
“Down?”  
“We’ll get to that in your training.” Anne smiles.  
Eliza responds, her smile hesitant.  
The doorbell chimes and Anne rises, moving to the counter to greet her guests. Uncertain of what to do, Eliza stands, her hearing catching the tail end of the exchange.   
“—But I always carry an umbrella.” Anne nods at the two people standing there. A short older gentleman is accompanied by none other than Howard Stark. Eliza gasps in recognition. As they pass by her, Howard gives her a wink. Eliza stares in shock at his forwardness, her hand unconsciously flying to her rounded stomach.   
“The machine is ready, Doctor, I assure you,” Howard says as they disappear in the back.   
A few minutes pass. Eliza pulls a cloth from beneath the counter and begins dusting the furniture in the store front. Anne appears from the back, without the two men. She picks up a similar cloth and begins dusting alongside Eliza.   
“Did you grow up in the city?” Anne begins a conversation.  
“Yes. Did you?”  
“No, I was a country girl.”  
“What made you move to the city?” Eliza asks, running her finger along a collection of maps.  
“The depression, I started working to send money back home. Always meant to return to the country but I got comfortable.”   
Eliza nods, understanding the draw to settling down. “Does your husband own this shop?”  
“No. He died over in Germany during the Great War.”  
“I'm sorry.”  
“Many good men go before their time.” The bell above the door rings and Anne rises. “You go enjoy your tea.” Walking back to the small table, Eliza places her hands around the warm mug. gazes around the back room. Muffled voices echo back, but most of the sound is absorbed into the dusty surroundings.  
Anne guides a few men through the back of the shop. Two of them are in business suits, and the third is in a starched army uniform. His weather-beaten face is craggy and his stature is stiff enough to be made of marble. Catching sight of his daughter, Colonel Phillips’ frown deepens. As she looks his way, Eliza nervously stands, a slosh of tea scorching her fingers.   
Before she says anything, the colonel has moved on and she perches on the edge of her chair again.   
\---  
The streetlights gleam, lighting the street with an orange tint. Walking quickly down the street, Eliza scans the dark streets diligently, aware of every shadow stirring.   
“Hey miss, spare some change?” A fellow, his hat crookedly balanced on his head, calls from the alley next to her. Ignoring him she continues on, her hand clenching her purse. “Hey lady, I’m talking to you!”   
Striding next to her he reaches for her purse. “Don’t touch that,” Eliza squeaks out, clenching her jaw tightly as she speeds up.  
“Don’t touch that, eh? Eh, Spot, ya hear that? The lady said don’t touch that.” He grabs her forearm pinning her in place.   
Spot chuckles along, surfacing from the shadows of another ally. “Careful Ben, there’s been cops patrolling around here lots lately.”  
“I will scream. If you lay another hand on me—“  
“Let her go, Ben,” Spot hisses a moment later. “That’s Bucky's girl.”  
“Well, he ain’t here right now. And this is my neighborhood.”  
“He might not, but you don’t want to get on the wrong side of the Barnes. My cousin married one of them and ditched the dame— after they finished with him, he’s gone reformed now.”  
“Let me go.”  
“Fine!” Ben spits, showing her away. “Only 'cause I don’t want to get on the Barnes’ bad side.”  
“Believe me, you don’t.” Eliza hurries home as the aggressors slink back into the shadows.


	4. Family Ties

Laying her hand on the doorknob, Eliza unlocks her apartment door. A rich garlic scent reaches her before she spies a figure at the stove, browning vegetables. “Mom?”  
The tall woman turns to greet her daughter. Her silver hair gleams in the glow of the electric lights. “Beth, it’s good to see you.”  
“You’re in my home. Why are you here?”  
“I had a free night and-”  
Eliza slumps down in a kitchen chair, interrupting her mother. “Dad sent you.”  
“What do you mean your father set me? Looking at my schedule, I realized I was due for a visit.” Mildred sniffs, turning back to stir the food on the stove.  
“It’s only been a week.” Eliza protests.  
“Don't act like that,” Mildred says, turning to face her daughter again.  
“I’m sorry, just a bit peckish.” Eliza’s mother’s eyes scan her daughter’s slender frame stopping at her stomach.  
“Pregnant I think you mean. Why didn't you tell us? You shouldn't be working in your state. Or living alone in the backstreets of Brooklyn.”  
“This is why, Mom. I have my own life now. I'm not the young socialite anymore, I have responsibilities to myself and to my husband. This is the life I chose, I know it's not the one you would have chosen for me but it's where the Lord put me. Can't you accept that?” Eliza covers her mouth, the volume and intensity of her words shaking her to the core.  
Mildred Phillips looks at her daughter, seeing for the first time the grey shadows under her eyes, the defeated slope of her shoulders and her uneven fingernails. She searches her daughters face for a glimpse of the merry spirit at the core of her personality, discovering its absence. She contrasts this figure with the joy-filled woman she watched bear her father’s shunning with dignity and grace, appalled to see the painful difference.  
“I'm sorry, Mom, I shouldn't have spoken that way. I'm glad you know now.”  
Mildred turns and places food on two plates, unable to say anything. Placing a plate in front of Eliza and settling at the table, she finally manages to speak past her full throat.  
“Eliza, you know we love you.”  
“I do.”  
“Don't ever doubt that.”  
Taking a bite of the mess of veggies and meat, Eliza fingers through the mail. Looking up, her face has regained some of her happy spirits. “Two letters from Bucky and one from Steve!”  
“Who's this Steve again?”  
“Bucky's best friend. He's in Basic right now, at Dad’s camp.”  
“Steve what?”  
“Rogers.” Pushing her plate forward, Eliza leans back to enjoy her letters.  
“Steven Rogers? Is he asthmatic?”  
“Yes. How'd you know that?” Eliza raises an eyebrow.  
“Your father has told me some stories, nothing major.”  
“Hmm.” Eliza frowns. “Willing to share?”  
“Oh, nothing. He's impressed the SSR Agent working with your father. She’s quite gorgeous if I do say so.”  
“A girl? Well, that's a surprise.”  
“Did he write anything of her?”  
“No.” Eliza scans the letter. “This is odd.”  
“What is?”  
“He has a medical procedure tomorrow. I hope it's nothing too intensive.” Eliza’s shoulders stay tightly pulled together as she folds the letter, slipping it back into the envelope.  
“No mention of an Agent Carter?” Mildred turns the conversation away from the upcoming procedure, all the while benignly stirring her soup around.  
“No. Steve won't tell me even if he had noticed her.”  
“I'm sure he has. Otherwise, he is thicker than Mrs. Yelso’s pound cake.” She scoffs, “But she won’t put up any silliness, Margaret Carter is there for business alone. Well-spoken young woman, I'm quite fond of her. I wish your brother might meet her, maybe he'd reconsider bachelorhood.”  
“And how old is this Agent Carter? Stanton's fifteen years my senior, you don't mean to have him marry someone so young?”  
“She seems to be your age, Beth, but then you have always been beyond your years, so she's most likely older.”  
“Pair her with Steve, but don't get your heart set on her and Stanton, he's much too old for her.” Eliza lays her spoon down in her empty bowl.  
Mildred sniffs in response, daintily dabbing her mouth. Chuckling, her daughter opens her other mail, swiftly devouring the few lines. “Buck sends his love.” She says, mindlessly smiling and laying her hand over her stomach.  
“What is his opinion on baby names?”  
“Anything but James Buchanan. He's convinced it'll be a boy.”  
“And you?”  
“I really believe it's a girl.”  
“Time will tell,” Mildred remarks, rising from her seat, “But time is telling me that your father will be wondering where I am. I'll just clear up.”  
“Don't worry about it. I can handle the dishes. Thank you for dinner.”  
“Certainly not. Do you do the dishes at home when you're sick?”  
“I never did the dishes, regardless of whether I was sick or not.”  
“Precisely.”  
Eliza shakes her head before handing the ceramic bowl to her mother. Taking the bowl, Mildred begins to speak offhandedly, “I'm having the entire downstairs repapered tomorrow. We finished the bedrooms last week, they look marvelous. Your room looks especially nice.”  
“I'm sure they've done wonderfully.”  
“You should come by and see it. Maybe tomorrow, I have Miss Crawford coming over, she's engaged to a sailor now. She's bringing a salad that they grew in their garden. You know they say greens are good for pregnancy.”  
“I'm afraid I have to work tomorrow. Send Miss Crawford my congratulations.”  
“You don't need to be working.”  
“I don't need to stare these four walls anymore either but exchanging these walls for another set of walls isn't an option.”  
Mildred dries her hands on the apron around her waist.  
“I'm tired, I think— I'm going—” Eliza struggled for words, anger closing her throat. “Just lock the door when you leave.”  
In silence, Mildred Phillips dries the remaining dishes, her hands shaking in frustration. Grabbing her coat and hat she exits the apartment, the lock sliding into place behind her. On the other side of the bedroom door, Eliza sits, a blanket around her shoulders with salty tears burning in her eyes. As they escape, they narrowly avoid missing a picture of Bucky, held tightly in her hands.


	5. Death of a Friend, Birth of an Icon

The next morning Eliza stairs out of a yellow taxi cab’s window as they weave through the streets of Brooklyn. Eliza’s thoughts are filled with apprehension “Here is fine.” Eliza taps the cabbie on the shoulder. As he pulls up next to the curb, Eliza exits the cab in front of the antique store. “Have a nice day.”  
“You too, ma'am.” Stepping onto the sidewalk, she stops as a group exits a car in front of her. Hurrying inside Anne’s antique shop, they don't notice her open-mouthed stare. Following more slowly, she watches as Steve Rogers goes through the curtain into the back room along with a woman in a green army uniform. Hastily overcoming her shock, she pushes her way into the shop, proprietary regulating her tongue and restraining her from yelling after her friend. Sunlight flows through the open door as she enters the dark shop; the beacon of light diminishes as the hinges creak shut.  
“Anne?” Eliza calls after a moment and the matron appears promptly.  
“Good morning, m’dear.”  
“Good morning.”  
“I have coffee in the back. We have plenty of deliveries today.”  
“What was that group doing here? I know the kid who just came in. The scrawny one, Steve Rogers.”  
“I’m sorry, I simply don’t know.” Anne frowns before brewing coffee in silence. The bitter fragrance flows from the pot as Anne pours the dark brew into two mugs. “Here’s your coffee.”  
“Thank you.” Eliza pours a small stream of cream into her coffee, stopping wide-eyed as the lights flicker above them, dimming the dark room even further. Below them the floor quakes, a persistent quivering, shaking back and forth before sliding into an ominous silence.  
“What was that?” Eliza asks softly, coffee spilled all over the pages of the inventory. “Oh dear.”  
“Don’t you worry. I’ll get you a cloth.”  
As Anne stands, a shock wave ripples through the building. Anne hurries to the front of the shop, resolutely grabbing a rifle from underneath the counter, anticipating the man bursting from the back room. The man raises his gun and shoots the older woman, slipping past her falling corpse to exit the building. Eliza muffles her shriek as a woman hastily rushes through the shop pursuing the shooter. Eliza forces herself into action, slipping to Anne’s side, flinching as a car explodes outside. Looking around, she slips to the side as a large blonde man pounds through the shop, followed by a few MP’s and Chester Phillips himself.  
“Get her out of here!” Chester growls to a crowd of nurses huddled on the other side of the curtained doorway. A nurse gently guides Eliza away from Anne’s body, leading her back to the coffee-soaked table.  
The nurse straightens the table. “Easy there. Take a breath. Are you alright?”  
Eliza nods, composing her face. “I’m alright. I need to find someone, Steve Rogers.”  
“Steve Rogers?” The nurse frowns. “Didn’t you see him?”  
“What’s that about Rogers?” Howard Stark appears behind the ladies, blood smeared on his shirtsleeves. He rolls them upwards to above his forearms.  
“Where is he?” Eliza demands,  
“He ran up here after that d—”  
“I would know Steve in a crowd of thousands; if he breathes I know it's him. Where is he?” Eliza placed her hands on her hips.  
“Maybe a half-hour ago, but I'm sure you won't recognize him now.”  
Eliza stares directly into Howard's eyes, her face inches from his own. “What did you do to him?”  
“Calm down, sweetheart.”  
“I want this base on lockdown.” Colonel Phillips demands. “And I want that serum replicated asap! What is she still doing here?” He roars scowling at Eliza.  
“Sorry sir, wasn't sure where you wanted me to take her.” The nurse twitters.  
“Out of this infernal excuse of a secure location.” The colonel bellows.  
“What the heck did you do to Steve?” Eliza repeats, looking from her father to Howard.  
The front door opens and the small bell rings out innocently interrupting the conversation. A woman, the one who had pursued the assailant, reenters the antique shop. “Howard, I need your keys.”  
“Right away my dear, Peg.” Howard sends a lone key spinning towards her. Snapping it from the air, she rushes from the building. Eliza steps after the agent, ignoring her father's “Elizabeth!”.  
Yanking the car door open, she slings into the seat next to the woman.  
“Hold on.” Her companion commands, aggressively swerving into traffic.  
“You must be Margaret Carter,” Eliza says.  
“Peggy. Have we met?”  
“We have mutual acquaintances. Eliza Phillips Barnes.”  
“Pleasure. Hold on!” Peggy swerves towards the docks. A crashed taxi is laying on its side, smoking in the summer heat. One door riddled with bullet holes is sitting a few yards away.  
Peggy and Eliza exit the car, following the gathering crowd down the docks. “Excuse me.” Peggy pushes through the crowd. “Steve, are you alright?” She asks coming up behind him.  
Looking up from the assailant’s dead body, Steve brushes his hands on the fabric of his pants. “He killed himself.” He explains, motioning at the body next to him.  
“How are you feeling?” Agent Carter asks, scanning him.  
“Better than I ever have.”  
Eliza steps out from behind Agent Carter. “Eliza!” Self-conscious, Steve rises from the ground.  
“What did they do to you?” She says, pointedly avoiding glancing at the spy's body. “Actually, we should find a more agreeable venue.”  
“Agreed.” Agent Carter turns. “Perhaps we can have a discussion before scientists insist on poking and prodding you. Keep the crowds back, boys!” She commands the MP’s swarming around them. Heels clicking on the shaded pavement, Peggy leads the trio down the pier returning to the car.  
“Eliza—” Steve stumbles, trying to grab her elbow as they walk.  
Eliza cuts Steve off. “Not yet.” Slipping into the passenger seat, her heartbeat pulses with the engine as Peggy guides the car back to the Antiques Shop. Yielding to the incoming crews of MP’s the car suffocates beneath the tension and summer sun.  
Agent Carter scans the street before them and drives straight past the shop. “Eliza, there should be a phone tucked away in here, dial up Colonel Phillips. The number is—”  
“I can't.”  
“Why in the name of heaven can you not?” Agent Carter snaps.  
“We haven't spoken in five years.”  
“Steve—“ Agent Carter begins.  
“Yes, ma’am.” Silently, Eliza hands the phone receiver back to Steve. Receiving the number from Agent Carter, he watches Eliza’s head as he waits for an answer.  
“Private Rogers sir… Agent Carter and Mrs. Barnes.” He leans forward. “Agent Carter go to the secondary lab.”  
“We’ll be there in 5 minutes.” Peggy continues to weave through the streets of the city.  
“Yes sir, she’s here. No injuries. Talk to her? Yes, sir.” Steve, ignoring Eliza’s silent protests presses the receiver into her hand.  
“Are you safe?” Colonel Phillips baritone echoes through the scratchy line.  
“I—I— Yes.” She stutters shoving the receiver into Steve’s hands.  
“Yes, sir. Understood.” Steve hands the dead line back to Eliza. “I can explain, Eliza.”  
“I don’t believe you have to,” Eliza responds. “I know my father, I know you, and this,”—she glances at his new stature—“is a result of you not staying where you belonged.”  
“Staying an asthmatic nearly dying during the spring? Picking up scrap metal?”  
Eliza shuts her mouth, laying a hand on her stomach.  
“Here we are.” Peggy pulls beside an abandoned warehouse, slipping the car into park. “Anything else you would like to say before we going inside?”  
“Eliza, I’m sorry. I should have told you.” Steve apologizes.  
Eliza sucks in a deep breath. “ Steve. I’m been trying to hold you back. You deserve this. You are the second best man I know. A good man.”  
Lapsing into silence, Steve pushes the car door open and steps out. Eliza reaches over and touches Peggy’s wrist. “Miss Carter, may I ask a favor of you?”  
“Peggy, and certainly.”  
“As soon as possible I’d like to get home. I’m supposed to be meeting my brother for dinner tonight.”  
“I’m afraid that the colonel might desire to see you.”  
“I doubt he will.” Elizabeth urges herself out of the car and back into the sun-drenched streets. Taking her arm, Steve guides her into the warehouse.  
“Rogers, you’re needed in the lab,” Howard Stark calls, walking in front of the duo as they enter the building, pausing to stare at Steve. “Dang. We really did it.”  
“Howard, stop gaping at your newest lab rat and direct Steve to where he needs to go.” Peggy appears behind them, tossing the car key to Howard. “And do you know where I should take Mrs. Barnes?”  
“Colonel wants her statement first, so take her to the MP office.”  
“Right.”  
Steve releases Eliza’s arm as he follows Howard and Peggy leads Eliza down a flight of stairs.  
Stopping in the hall, Peggy stares at Eliza. “If this is too forward, I beg pardon, but why are you alienated from your father?”  
Meeting Peggy’s eyes, Eliza doesn’t flinch when Peggy asks her the question. “My father disowned me when I married my husband six years ago.”  
“And you haven’t spoken since?” Peggy asks.  
Eliza responds with a solid, “No.”  
“How do you know Steve?”  
“He’s James’s best friend, we’ve known each other for years,” Eliza says.  
Peggy continues to stare at Eliza. “And you didn’t want him joining the army?”  
“Miss Carter, I’ve lost my father and husband to the army, do you think I want to lose a brother as well?” Eliza says, her voice rolling with the tempest of emotions underneath her calm appearance of calm.  
Peggy cracks a sad smile. “Call me Peggy.”  
“Then I insist on Eliza.”  
The two women continue on down the narrow halls of the bunker, sidestepping every soldier and obstacle in their way until they reach an intersection. Moving to the right, Peggy knocks on one of the unmarked doors, pushing it inward before receiving a response.  
“Here we are, Eliza. If you wouldn’t mind telling the boys your side of your story we’ll get you out of here as quickly as possible.” Peggy says.  
“Thank you.” Eliza nods, seating herself in the chair that the MP pulls out for her and prepares to give her report.


	6. Diplomatic Relations

“Thank you, Mrs. Barnes. That will be all we need from you.” The officer slides the paper from his typewriter and sliding it into a folder, dismissing her.  
“Am I free to go?” Eliza stands, looking uncertain.  
“Wait a second,” the officer leans from his desk to shout at his officemate, “Did the Colonel send any information about her?”  
“Yeah, he said he would be in his office when she finished and to send her up.”  
“Is there any way I would send my regards to the Colonel? I have a dinner obligation and it is getting rather late. Also, I’d rather not think of what is on my clothing.” Eliza glances down at the hem of her soiled skirts.  
The soldier frowns. “Perhaps you don’t know how the military works, ma’am, but when you receive a request it isn’t exactly a request.”  
“I see,” Eliza says.  
“I’ll take you upstairs.” He volunteers.  
The pair exits the room and the MP leads the way to Colonel Phillips’ office. Biting her lip, Eliza takes a deep breath before following him into the office. As she steps through the doorway, a voice calls after her.  
“Eliza!” Peggy strides down the hallway, behind her.  
“Peggy, hello.”  
“The Colonel sent me to apologize for his absence. He’s caught up in a meeting and might be longer than originally expected. You can make yourself comfortable in his office.”  
“I’m afraid I have another commitment this evening. My brother’s schedule is inflexible and I must keep this appointment. If you will pass along my regrets to the Colonel and direct me to a taxi I’d be most grateful.”  
Peggy waves the concerned MP away with one hand. “I understand. If you’ll come this way I can drive you myself.”  
“Are you certain?”  
“Without question. This way.”  
—  
“Thank you for the ride home,” Eliza says, her hand on the car door. Outside, the sun still burns bright in the blue summer sky. Among the brick houses compacted tighter than sardines, the heat grows more intense; the shade lacking the gentle relief it often offers.  
Peggy stands next to the car door. “It was a pleasure.” she says across the car.  
Eliza begins to turn away but pauses turning back to the woman. “I’m sorry about Doctor Erskine. I heard you were the one who extracted him from Germany.”  
“It’s war.” Peggy shrugs, feigning nonchalance. “He wasn’t the first casualty and he won’t be the last.”  
“You are a brave woman, Peggy.”  
Peggy’s face remains stoic, but her voice holds an echo of respect that she is developing for Eliza. “As are you.”  
“I hope to see you again?” Eliza smiles at the other woman.  
“That would be most welcome.” Peggy nods, slipping back into the car. Eliza watches her drive away before slowly making her way to her apartment.  
\----  
“Stanton!” Eliza flags the gentleman who passes in front of her, oblivious to her presence on the park bench beside the path. She smiles at her brother, his mustache dragging up his lip as he smirks down at her.  
“Beth, I hardly recognized you.”  
“You haven’t changed.” She casts a glance at his waistline, “Your appetite sure hasn’t.”  
“Good food deserves to be eaten.” He offers his hand to his sister who rises from the bench. They begin walking down the path, enjoying the glimmer of late afternoon sunlight.  
“With regards to a proper serving size. How is Marcy?”  
“Her food is impeccable as always.”  
“How was her daughter’s wedding?”  
“I sent a set of silver.” Stanton leans on his cane, stopping to pause for breath. “Mother sent me your wedding photos and Marcy wished me to tell you how beau—” Stanton coughs over the word, “you looked.”  
“I’ll make sure to send a picture of the baby out to Seattle for her.”  
“She’ll enjoy that.”  
The leaves above their heads cast emerald shadows over the siblings. Pigeons line the walkway ahead, waddling slowly to the soft tune of the afternoon. A lone bicyclist skirts around the pigeons, unable to disrupt their gentle rhythm.  
Eliza lifts her nose suddenly, “Those hot dogs smell amazing.”  
“Hot dogs?” Stanton wrinkles his nose.  
“Hot dogs. Come on, that the exact thing I’ve been craving all day. And it’s been such a day.”  
“Our dinner reservation is in an hour.” Stanton protests.  
“And I’m eating for two.” Eliza gently steers her brother towards the cart. “You eat for two normally.”  
“Is my waistline still under scrutiny?”  
“For old times sake.” Eliza pleads. “Hot dogs in the park? Pretending to eat at home so Mother didn’t guess we’d spoiled our dinner? You remember that don’t you?”  
“Very well. Two hot dogs, everything on them.” Stanton orders after they reach the front of the queue. Receiving the food, Stanton and Eliza settle down on a bench.  
“I am always hungry these days.” Eliza laughs after her hot dog disappears in a few bites.  
Stanton coughs, his hot dog halfway eaten. “Are you getting enough to eat at home, Beth?”  
“Enough to eat?” Her brows and voice draw together simultaneously. “Of course I am.”  
“Mildred mentioned that you were looking-changed.”  
“In what ways?” Eliza questions, the tension increasing every moment her brother hesitates.  
Stanton opens his mouth, shuts it and then reopens it. “In appearance, just slightly. A bit more worn, less what’s the word?”  
“Bubbly? Naive? Malleable?” She counters. “But happy.”  
“Happy doesn’t keep the electricity running.”  
“It’s the AC,” Eliza admits. Forcing a chuckle she glances out across the park. A few children are tossing a ball directly in front of the siblings. The small forests on each end of the park echo back their voices.  
“You don’t need to worry, I’m being taken care of. Besides, I just got a job. Had a job.” Anne’s prostrate figure on the floor flashes through her mind. “It’s complicated.” Eliza’s mouth twitches, puckering as if she had taken a sip of sour lemonade.  
“Would the ‘complicated’ have anything to do with why Father canceled drinks tonight?” Stanton asks.  
“Yes. Today was the first time I’d spoken to him since before the wedding. How’d you know Dad had something to do with it?”  
“You don’t use that particular expression unless you are talking about Dad or me.”  
“I don’t use any expression.” Eliza protests, her lips forming the same expression as before.  
“You’re making it right now.” Stanton shifts as the bench’s slats continue to dig into his back. “Do you believe Dad will reach out to you again?”  
Eliza shakes her head. “No. He’s too stubborn. And I won’t call.”  
“Understandable. I knew Barnes would be a good man, but with this blasted war I do wish you had trustworthy people within this city.”  
“Stanton, trust me, I do. Now we best find a cab and start towards the restaurant.”  
\----  
“Hey, Eliza.” Steve pushes the door open, his large frame casting a shadow into the entryway. Slipping the key into his pocket, he walks in, tossing his jacket over the coat rack. The coat rack tips as Steve’s jacket lands on top of various outerwear. The super-soldier flinches as the rack clangs against the wall.  
“If you dent my wall, you fix it,” Eliza says, her head limp against the couch cushion in exhaustion. Her mouth opens in a yawn.  
Licking his finger, Steve rubs away the slight dent in the white paint. “It’s not that bad.” He walks to the couch and plops down next to Eliza. The couch groans in frustration under his weight. “The medical staff finally released me free and clear.”  
Eliza doesn’t look at him, instead, she stares at the ceiling seeming to see beyond the textured concrete. “That’s a first.”  
“How many times do I have to apologize?”  
“I didn’t say you had to apologize.”  
“But you’re still mad at me.”  
“Bucky told me to look after you. He’s gone for less than a month and you go and get yourself— I don’t even know what to call this!” Eliza shoots her hand up, motioning to the new and improved Steve.  
“I’m not your child, Eliza!”  
“No, you were just my responsibility!”  
“Should I have asked your permission?”  
“Yes.”  
“Would you have approved me to participate?”  
Eliza pauses, her eyes darting down to the pockmarked tabletop. “No.”  
“Then I’m sorry I didn’t get your disapproval.”  
Lifting her gaze, Eliza’s brown eyes stare into Steve’s blue. “I’m sorry. I suppose I overreacted.”  
“I didn’t mean for you to be there and find out like that.”  
“You and my father both. What comes next for you?”  
Steve’s face falls. “I had two choices, get studied by scientists or help sell war bonds.”  
“And you picked?”  
“War bonds. It’s doing more good than sitting in a hospital waiting for another round of blood work to begin.”  
Eliza searches Steve’s face, and smiles gently, “You will do great.”  
“And you, Eliza? How will you do?”  
“I’ll manage.” She pauses and lays her palm against her stomach, feeling the flutter of her child’s movements against her hand. “We’ll manage.”


	7. Mere Miscommunications

Dear 'Liza,  
I got a few of your letters last week, they were sure the highlight of the last couple days. Glad to hear that Brooklyn is still the same old wonderful place. How many street fights has Steve managed to get into since I left? The boys and I have a running bet, I say it’s probably been about twenty-five. Tell him he needs to start buying his own steaks for his bruises.  
The 107th is chock full of people hailing from all over. I’ve got to know a few of the guys more than others. Been in the foxholes with Dugan and Gabe more than a few times, you’ll be glad to hear that we’ve got each other’s backs. Dugan’s got a wife back home and two kids, both girls. He says that’s why he’s fighting, guess I’d have to agree with him.  
I’d rather spare the details of life out here in the middle of ████████ . I mean, I always wanted to visit ████████ in the middle of summer. I have never been more grateful for growing up in Brooklyn during the heat waves, I can stomach whatever weather comes our way. I can live with the weather, it sucks as heck, but the real downer is the food. We all swear the joe is mixed with mud and anything else to eat is— well, you get it. Other than the food, weather, bombs, bullets, and company, life’s great. Got a kid who can play the harmonica so when we get the go-ahead we have real great music.  
Speaking of music, we just got the news that we got a USO show headed our way. Can’t say I’m not excited, we all need the morale lift. Judy Garland herself. Tell Nancy I think this beats her Carnegie Hall experience.  
I heard through the grapevine that the Captain America show is coming to New York. Wonder how much they had to pay a guy to dress up in that costume.  
Glad to hear you weren’t alone for your birthday, I can taste Ma’s sugar cookies. How long did she hoard stamps for the sugar and eggs? Thanks for the chocolate, I’ll be rationing it out for myself so it’ll last.  
Don’t worry Beth, it’s not good for you or baby. The boys ask why I’m so candid with you, it’s because you’re the strongest women I know. Miss you to pieces.  
Love,  
Bucky  
P.S. How about we call the baby Chester? The boys over here cast their votes for Frank, but I don’t feel it.  
\----  
Dearest Bucky,  
Absolutely not. We are not naming our child after my father. What about Jonathan, Walter or Dennis? And for a girl? I haven’t been able to find any names that seem to fit with Barnes. Naming her after your mother is an option, but didn’t Becky say she is naming her first born daughter after Ruth?  
We all chipped in with our sugar rations so Ma didn’t have to hoard too many rations. The party was a great excuse to see everyone and talk politics, the war, and not much else.  
That USO show sounds like great fun, her voice is absolutely amazing. If you meet her, tell her your wife loves her voice.  
Have you heard from Steve lately? He told me he wrote to you last time we spoke. As far as I know, he hasn’t gotten in any fights lately. He’s doing well, staying busy. I’ll prod him to send a letter your way.  
Your pa bought the whole family tickets to the Captain America show. I’ll write you a full rundown after the show. All I’m hoping is that I won't go into labor before the show.  
I’m not worrying. Not to an extreme extent, just normal worry. It’s not hurting me or the baby. If anything, my seeing my father gave me more stress than anything else.  
It’s late and I’m pretty exhausted. Baby has been keeping me up at night and right now I can barely keep my eyes open. I’m praying for a decent night's sleep, I have another batch of antiques to look through in the morning. Did I tell you I started working? I think I did. Well anyway I’m now managing the shop. Long story.  
Longer letter to follow.  
Love,  
Eliza  
\-----  
Dear Eliza,  
Another show done. We are headed to Boston next. Are you planning on coming to the New York show? I won’t have very long in the city so I am hoping I can see you, albeit briefly.  
I read that book you recommended on the trains. The Wizard of Oz seemed like an awfully odd title, but I enjoyed it. Any other recommendations?  
I attached a drawing, inspired by happy memories. It’s probably not completely accurate, I haven’t seen Coney Island in a while.  
Let me know when the baby comes.  
Steve.  
P.S. Has Bucky written you with a name yet?  
\---  
Dear Steve,  
I’m glad you enjoyed the book. I don’t exactly have any recommendations right now. I haven’t had time to read, sadly. Life has been keeping me busy. I have had a chance to pick up some of your comics, they aren’t super terrible. The writing is pretty decent, if the storylines aren’t a bit overused. Speaking of your comics, the new movies are pretty good.  
We’ll be there for your performance. I’m expecting you to come over for dinner afterwards.  
Your art keeps getting better and better. For not seeing the Island in months, your memory is impeccable.  
Bucky has not written back with a name. I haven’t heard from him recently which is rather unusual. However, in the last letter I received, he asked if you were still getting beat up on the streets of Brooklyn. Says they have a running bet over how many fights you’ve been in. By that, I’m taking that you have not written to him yet. Do I need to say anything else? You told me that you would write to him.  
Yours will be the second letter off as soon as Baby Barnes makes an appearance.  
Stay out of trouble and I’ll see you in a few months.  
Eliza  
\------  
Dear Eliza,  
I like Jonathan. I knew both Dennis and Walter growing up, and to put it lightly, they were drips. I can tell you like Jonathan the most— it isn’t the first time that it’s been brought up by you. When we visited Dad’s workshop and he had the commission for the Wright’s cradle, we tossed around names and Jonathan was your favorite. Just in case you had some former beau in the past named Jonathan, I raise to you these names: Gerald, Roger, and Terry.  
So you saw your father. How did that happen? You said Stanton was coming to visit, was he involved? You can’t just drop a line like that, ‘Liza, and expect me not to have questions. Was it your mother?  
I never should have left you with things still not resolved. It’s been years. Years since the wedding and since he basically disowned you. I’m having trouble finding a reason of why— after seven years he would see you when I’m deployed overseas. Not on our anniversary, not on your birthdays, not even when I was drafted.  
Honestly, Eliza, I don’t know what to think right now. You gave me no context to this situation and just dropped the bombshell that you saw him and implied you’ve spoken to him. It’s hard enough to bear bombshells that are all too common these days, yet alone the emotional one you just dropped on me. Did you not want to let me know before you saw him? Or is it something else, since I’m not around, you want to go back to your posh life?  
Well, by the time I get your next letter, I might already have answers. Rumour is that the esteemed war hero, Colonel Chester Darnell Phillips, will be coming to the front lines. None other than my estranged father-in-law. The censors will probably cut all that out but who knows? Maybe the Colonel himself is censoring our letters. If he is, I hope he knows that— you know what? I’m not going there. ‘Cause if I go there I’m not going to be able to pull myself up out of that funk. And that’s the last thing I need right now.  
Write soon, Eliza. Your soldier is waiting for the intel.  
James  
\----  
Steve,  
You haven’t written to Bucky. Write to Bucky before I do it myself.  
Irate and annoyed,  
Eliza  
\---  
Dear James,  
I believe I asked for girl names, not more boy ideas. Jonathan is an excellent choice for a boy, and no, I never went out with anyone named that. Or John, or Nathan or any of the derivative. I barely went out with anyone except you or one or two of my brother’s friend’s younger brothers. What middle name did you like? I can’t remember. Please don’t respond with Elizabeth for a girls name, we can be so much more original than that. Pearl? Emily? Send your opinion.  
What happened isn’t exactly straight forward. You’re right— I shouldn’t have dropped that news without explaining myself further. And I meant to send another letter the next day but I’ve been so busy. And I was exhausted. Am exhausted. I haven’t had a good night’s sleep in weeks. But then again, I doubt you’ve been sleeping either.  
First off, to clarify, I was in the same room with my father for a total of five minutes. I proceeded to talk to him briefly on the phone, under extreme duress. I can’t say much more via letter at least not until you receive a letter from Steve. He’s being stubborn and refusing to write. All you need to know is no, I didn’t go running back to my father. I didn’t forget my side of the wedding vows— have you?  
Second, I don’t want to fight. Nothing like what you are thinking happened.  
Faithfully,  
‘Liza  
\---  
Elizabeth,  
You have got to be kidding me. Passing the buck to Steve? That’s cheesy and not a move I expected from my wife. I thought you had more moxie.  
You won’t hear from me for a few weeks. I hope you can get you story together by then.  
James


	8. Showtime

“Aren’t you excited?” Nancy grabs Eliza’s hand, dropping it to spin around the kitchen. Eliza’s faint smile turns into a grimace as the child in her stomach shifts, shoving its foot into her bladder. “The Captain America Show in full splendor is tonight!”  
Eliza nods, not changing her painted expression. “I know.”   
“What’s wrong?” Nancy pauses her spinning. She reaches over and pulls Eliza’s face towards her own, cupping her hands under Eliza’s chin. Eliza snaps her face out of Nancy’s hands. Her blue skirt swirls around her ankles when she swivels to take a seat at her kitchen table.   
“Why does everyone think something is wrong lately? Can’t a woman have a bad day in peace?” Eliza leans her head against the tabletop, pressing her hands to her stomach. Breathing deeply, she rubs her stomach while Nancy looks on in concern. The stove’s fire crackles, the only noise in the room other than Eliza’s hiccups.   
A minute passes and Eliza gradually raises her head. “Baby is having some issues tonight. I must have eaten something off.”  
“Are you still okay to go to the show?”   
“I’ll be fine.” Eliza insists. Standing, she walks over, pulling a grey coat from the rack. The coat fits snugly around her protruding frame and she sighs as she glances in the hall mirror. Winding a scarf around her neck, she places a knit cap snuggly over her ears. Her brown hair is gathered loosely above her neck. “Can you grab my purse, Nancy?”   
“Right here.” Nancy grabs Eliza’s purse from the table and casts a quick glance around the room. Satisfied that everything is in order, she walks to Eliza’s side and helps her out the door and into the winter air. The cold air envelopes the two women. They make their way to the stairs, Nancy walking slowly while Eliza waddles beside her.   
“Do you need help?’ Nancy asks, fidgeting with her wrists.  
“No, thank you. I can manage.”   
However, before they reach the street, Eliza has to stop a number of times, bending over the railing from the exhortation. “I can make it.” She snaps as Nancy offers her a hand. “Let me just get down these stairs.”  
“Good idea.” Nancy rolls her eyes behind Eliza’s back as Eliza tackles the last set of stairs. “I’ll run ahead and grab a cab.”   
Eliza nods, not sparing the energy to speak. At the bottom of the stairs, she waits as Nancy waves a cab down. The streets dully reflect the orangey glow of the lamps. Eliza’s hands clench into fists and she sucks in deep drafts of air.   
“Here we are!” Nancy yells at Eliza, motioning her closer and closer to the street. A cab idles at the side of the curb, the headlights shooting bright yellow beams of light into traffic. Pulling the door open, Nancy gestures for Eliza to enter first. Once Eliza is settled in the back seat of the cab, Nancy slides in next to her, her silky dress slipping across the seat as smoothly as oil in water. Pulling the door shut, Nancy gives an approving nod at the driver who pulls away from the curb and whisks the girls off to a night at the theater.   
\---   
“Are you feeling alright, Eliza?” Ruth lays a hand on her daughter-in-law’s shoulder as they sit in the dimly lit theater.   
“Baby for some reason keeps kicking my back. I’m fine.” Eliza insists.   
“Alright.” Ruth doesn’t press the issue, instead, keeping a wary eye on her daughter-in-law.   
Around them, the theater buzzed with excitement. Late arrivals scurry to find their seats while children squirm to see the red curtain sheltering the stage more clearly. Up in the balconies, the influential society members sit, their top hats and fans resting next to them. They speak among themselves and don’t glance down at the floor seating, but neither do those on the floor look up.   
“What a Hallowe’en, am I right?” Nancy says, flipping through the playbook. “Steve is still dressing up all these years later.” She points to a picture on the front of the playbook, an illustration of Captain America saluting the flag.   
Rebecca Curtis leans over from Nancy’s left and motions to the picture. “Did I tell you Lottie Fraiser was talking a big game about how she now refuses to date anyone who wasn’t Captain America?”   
Eliza’s eye’s crinkle in amusement and her sister-in-law’s words. “And she wouldn’t give Steve the time of day. Said she doesn’t date guys shorter than her.”   
“She didn’t.” Nancy gasps, her eyes wide with shock, twisting her head to stare at her sister. “Becky, she really said that? About Captain America?”   
“She’s always been a khaki wacky…”  
Eliza leans back in her seat, dropping out of the conversation her sisters-in-law are carrying on. Her eyes scan the theater, often flicking back to stare at the red curtain hiding the stage from the audience. Her foot taps expectantly as she listens to the orchestra’s background music, clasping her hands as she waits for the show to begin.   
Intermittently, she evaluates the socialites and their proud parents sitting in the boxes above the side of the stage. Every so often her eyes linger on a man or woman and something akin to recognition dances across her face. After a while, she seems to find who she was looking for, a merry woman sitting with a group of general’s wives to the right of the stage. Mildred Phillips sits, her head tilted back in polite laughter, unconscious of her daughter’s far off stare.   
Following Eliza’s gaze, Ruth Barnes stomach clenches in sympathy for her daughter-in-law. Ruth reaches over and places her hands on top of Eliza’s own. Eliza jerks her eyes away from her mother.   
“You’ve been out of sorts since last night at dinner,” Ruth says quietly. “Are you sure you wanted to come this evening?”  
Eliza’s face tightens and a furious red blush pours over her face. “Of course.”  
Ruth purses her lips. “Was there something in your letter from James?”  
Eliza looks everywhere except at Ruth’s face. Finally settling her gaze on her hands, she nods. “We got in a fight.”  
“You’ve fought before.”  
“Not like this. Ma, I’ve never heard Bucky so angry, and it’s just in writing. I don’t want to think about what he would sound like saying this stuff in person.” Tears gather at the edge of Eliza’s eyes as the image Bucky’s last letter burns in her eyes. His words had sliced deep, whips burning into her heart. The mistrust and accusations expressed in his letter still rang in her ears as loud as if he had yelled them at her.   
“It’s easier to say things we don’t mean when we don’t have to see the reaction of the person on the receiving end of our words,” Ruth says softly. “When we are wrapped in our own anger, straight and proper thinking tends to escape us.”  
“I just wish that I could tell him what really happened but besides it being more likely than not to be censored out, it’s not my story to tell.”   
“It’s about Steve, isn’t it?” Ruth turns her head to meet Eliza’s eyes. The wrinkles on her face and the grey streaks in her hair are dulled in the dim lamplight of the theater. “Steve hasn’t written to him yet.”  
“If he has, the letter hasn’t gotten to Bucky. But this,” Eliza motions around her to the audience who is stirring in anticipation for what is to come, “isn’t my story to tell. I gave Steve one last opportunity to pen a letter. I’ll ask him tonight if he has, and if he hasn't, I'll do it myself. Bucky’s known about Captain America for months. Didn’t Betsy say that some of the guys on Tom’s ship have the comic books?”  
Ruth acquiesces, squeezing Eliza’s hand. Her hands are soft and cold, patterned with small tears where the cold wind bit through her gloves. “Have you thought that perhaps, just perhaps, Steve doesn’t want Bucky to know what happened?”  
“Yes. But he made a choice and Bucky should know. He’s lying to him.”  
“Or just avoiding telling the full truth. From what I heard, Steve never wanted to become propaganda. I can guarantee his pride is stinging, especially when he’s performing in tights.” Ruth chuckles and Eliza tentatively joins in.   
“Bucky is a protector, always has been. ” Ruth’s voices gleams with motherly pride as she continues. “And that’s what always attracted you to him.”   
“Yes, it is.”  
“And now he is thousands of miles away from you and his child, unable to protect you.”  
Eliza opens her mouth to protest but the words stick in her throat as Ruth lays a finger against her lips. “Eliza, fighting a war to protect your family is not the same as protecting them in person from the threats on the home front. He’s unable to protect you from so far away and that upsets him. He came to me, the day he found out he got drafted, scared out of his mind. Not of fighting but of leaving you behind.” Ruth’s hands move to touch Eliza’s trembling shoulder. “Afraid of what might happen to you. And you telling him not to worry won’t stop his worrying. So if he sounds angry, I can almost guarantee he is scared.”   
Eliza reaches up and swipes a tear from the corner of her eye. “I try not to give him reasons to worry.”   
“He’s going to anyway. Look how he worried over Steve. He’s turned alright hasn’t he?” Ruth smiles and offers her handkerchief to Eliza. Eliza uses the cloth to blot her tears, careful not to smudge her mascara.  
“Thank you, Ma.”   
Ruth squeezes Eliza’s hand, a small gesture of love.  
A blaring of trumpets from the brass section of the orchestra quells all conversations in the theater. With a large fanfare, the curtains split open and the show begins.   
\-----  
“Steve! Over here!” Nancy calls, sending her hand in the air. The chill October winds stir the scarves of the crowd gathered around the stage door. Steve stands in the center, encircled by a gaggle of young women, boys, and other adoring fans. The bright colors of his costume draw his fans to him as flies are drawn to honey.   
Hearing Nancy’s cry, Steve nods and finishes the autograph in his hand with a flourish.   
Sighs follow as he gently forces his way over to the Barnes’s party. Grinning sheepishly, he allows Ruth to click her tongue over his health and wrap him into a hug. Becky and Nancy both follow suit with hugs, slightly in awe of the larger version of the Steve they used to know. Jefferson Barnes meets his son’s best friend with a firm handshake and a “how ya doing, Steve?”  
Eliza stands near the back of the group, her eyebrows pulling together during each contraction. “Hello, Steve,” she says, smiling as the contractions diminish slightly.   
He hugs her, his height dwarfing her. “It’s so good to see you, Eliza.”   
“Are you hungry?” She asks, pulling back and guiding him away from the crowd. The mob ebbs and flows, pressing after Steve and rising in intensity as Jefferson hails a cab.   
“Starved.”   
“Well, one thing hasn’t changed,” Nancy calls, yanking Steve towards the cab behind her. “I for one am starved.”  
“We won’t all fit in one cab!” Ruth exclaims as the cab Jefferson hailed fills up with Becky and her husband. “Nancy, climb in next to your father. We’ll catch the next cab to the restaurant.”  
“Alright.” Nancy cast a regretful glance back at Steve, who is trying to avoid meeting the eyes of any young fan. “See you in a few!” She pulls the cab door shut and the yellow vehicle merges into traffic, getting lost in the sea of other cars.   
Steve raises his arm to hail another cab but there is not another taxi in sight. “Where’s a good ol’ taxi driver when you need him?” He mutters, dancing sideways to avoid the eager advances of a fan.   
“Honey, you don’t look so good,” Ruth says as Eliza clutches her arm. Silent through the onslaught of contractions, Eliza can barely acknowledge Ruth’s words. A moment passes, punctuated with the pulsing contractions ripping through her body.   
Eliza looks up, fear painting itself across the canvas of her eyes. “I think my water just broke.”  
“Did it?” Ruth asks, running her hand over Eliza’s back. “Steve! We need to go home now.”  
“What happened?”   
“Eliza’s going into labor.”   
“What?”  
“The baby is coming. Steven Rogers, find her a cab.”   
“She wasn’t supposed to come for another two weeks,” Eliza exclaims, frustration, pain, and exhaustion mixing her voice.   
“Well, I’m not taking chances.” Plucking the arm of a reporter in the crowd, Ruth watches in her peripheral vision as Steve finally locates a taxi. The crowd had followed him as he moved down the street and a wall of people separates him from Ruth and Eliza. “If you don’t mind sir, my daughter is very ill and it is imperative that we get into the taxi with Mr. Rogers.”  
“Who?” The reporter asks, annoyed at being pulled from following Captain America.   
“Captain America.” Ruth snaps. “My daughter is in labor, she needs to get into that taxi. Now help me get through this crowd.”   
The reporter jumps into action, stepping in front of the two women and shoving his way to the front of the crowd, leaving a path for them to follow on. A minute later, just as Eliza reaches Steve, another contraction hits and she clutches his arm for support. “Get her in the cab.” Ruth orders, sparing no expense on the demeaning glares she sends at the photographers and woman surrounding Steve. Eliza still paralyzed in pain digs her nails into Steve’s arm.   
Unsure of what to do, Steve gently lifts her and helps her into the car, darting to the other side of the cab to enter himself. Ruth slides in next to Eliza in the seat closest to the curb and orders the cabbie to take them home. “As fast as you can sir.”  
“I am not having my baby in a taxi,” Eliza says, a momentary lull in the waves of contractions leave her with her head resting against the taxi seat. “This was not how tonight was supposed to go.”  
“Oh, I was certain this was the plan,” Steve remarks.   
“If you make a joke about this situation—” Eliza breaks off, another contraction reducing her to silence.   
Ruth strokes Eliza’s shoulder as the cabbie screams around corners and haphazardly drives the three back to the nearest hospital. “Where are we going?”  
“The hospital,” Steve says, leaning forward. His hands cup the seat in front of him in nervous tension, his knuckles turning a light ivory from his fastidious grip.   
“Steve calm down. Breath, honey.” Ruth coaches.   
“I’m breathing,” Steve responds, inhaling deeply and exhaling quickly. His nervous breathing patterns echo in the confined space of the taxi.   
Ruth shakes her head in dismay. “I was talking to Eliza.”  
“Steve, did you write to Bucky yet?” Eliza asks, after swallowing a mouthful of air.   
“I—well—,” Steve braces himself as the taxi driver whips into the hospital parking lot.   
“You promised.” Tears well up in Eliza’s eyes and she clenches her teeth against the next wave of pressure.   
“This can’t be normal,” Steve says to Ruth over Eliza’s head. “Something must be wrong.”  
Ruth shakes her head at his ignorance. “Nothing’s wrong, boy. Childbirth is extremely painful, your mother went through the exact same process to bring you into the world. Now get out of the car and help her out.”   
Steve obeys, reaching back into the taxi to help Eliza step out of the taxi. “Do you need me to carry you?”  
“I can walk.” Eliza straightens up, running her hands up and down her back. “Just let me walk.”   
“You really shouldn’t.” Steve insists.   
When Eliza bends over, another contraction racking her body. Steve casts a worried gaze back at Ruth who is calmly counting out the taximan’s fare. He looks back at Eliza, his face knotted in distress. “Please, let me just take you inside.”   
“Hold on!” Eliza snaps, breathing in erratically as she focuses on the pain. The seconds drag by while Steve waits in nervous anticipation for her to straighten. When she does, he reaches out his arm and helps her into the hospital.  
\---  
“How long has it been since we lost contact?” Colonel Phillips snaps at the young intel officer at his elbow. Walking to survey a map behind him, Colonel Phillips ignores the man next to him. The officer turns trots to keep up with Colonel, stuttering over his words.   
“It’s been a day or two, I believe, sir—”   
“I need intel, man! Days, hours, minutes! Get me that information.” The Colonel bellows, his demeanor as stormy as the weather outside of his tent. The officer darts out of the tent, eager to escape the trepid atmosphere of the Colonel’s tent.   
The clouds over Central Europe have been emptying the heavenly storehouses of rain and sleet on the weary allies. In the camp, mud pathways connect the city of tents and hastily built structures. The camp seems deserted, only a few nurses and soldiers briefly venture into the storm, clutching their coats over their heads and hurrying to their destinations.   
Striding back to his desk, Colonel Phillips shuffles through the papers stacked on top of it. “Where did those blasted papers go?” He mutters to himself.   
“Right here, sir.” The Colonel’s attaché hands him a stack of papers. “The complete list of the men assigned to the 107th.”   
“Are you looking for a name in particular, sir?”  
“Dismissed, Gordon.”   
Gordon salutes, pausing by the edge of the tent. “They’ve got heart, that company, sir.”  
“Dismissed.” The Colonel sinks down in his chair and flips through the list. His eyes scan quickly through the A’s and slow as he reaches the B’s. His finger rests on one name, and his chiseled scowl deepens. Flipping a picture frame up from where it lies face down, the Colonel stares into the face of his daughter, dressed in her wedding dress and clutching the elbow of her new husband. Joy fills their faces, a stark contrast to the misery that surrounds the Colonel on the front lines.   
“Sir.” Gordon reenters the tent, streams of water pouring from his uniform. “Mr. Stark has just arrived. Shall I send him in?”  
The Colonel starts. His eyes refocus into steely grey once more. “What was that, Gordon?”   
“Mr. Stark to see you, sir.”  
“Send him in. What are you waiting for, man?” Colonel Phillips reaches over and turns the photo face down again. “We’ve got a war to fight, Gordon, get on it!”  
“Right away, sir.”


	9. Baby!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the late chapter!

“It’s a boy.” Ruth declares, entering the small waiting room where her family waits in anticipation. The white walls echo the anticipation of the few people gathered, waiting for news of loved ones. “Healthy young man. Looks just like his grandfather.”  
Steve, Jefferson, Nancy, and another young man blink the sleep from their eyes in an instant. Nancy grabs her younger brother’s hand and swings him around, bumping the chairs against the wall in her glee. “I told you, Davy, it was going to be a boy.”  
“No, you didn’t.” Davy shakes himself loose from Nancy’s grasp. “You said it was going to be a girl. You bet me a dollar-fifty, Nan. Now pay up.” He insists, using the back of his hand to shove the scratchiness of sleep away from his eyes.   
“How’s Eliza?” Steve asks Ruth, standing next to Jefferson. Steve had ditched his knee-high red leather boots in favor of sturdy brown shoes, and the gloves and boots stand abandoned in the corner. Protruding from his jacket, the collar of his Captain America costume still holds it’s stiffness.   
Ruth smiles wider. “She’s good. Exhausted, but healthy. Baby is doing well.”  
Jefferson pulls his wife into a side hug next to him, clasping her tightly to his hip. “What’s the kid’s name?”   
“Jonathan James Barnes,” Ruth reports, watching with pride as the group nods their approval.   
“Buck will hate the James.” Steve remarks, shrugging as Jefferson raises his eyebrows towards him. “He never really liked James.”  
“I happened to have picked out that name myself.” Jefferson says, his voice dry with annoyed humor.   
“Just because you picked it out doesn’t mean he had to like it.” Steve stretches. Davy stifles a yawn behind him, his eyes tearing up at the effort.   
“Can we see him?” Nancy asks, reaching over and hooking her arm through Steve’s.   
Ruth nods but holds up a finger to quell Nancy’s squeal of delight. “Eliza would love to see you, but only for ten minutes. They both need their rest.”  
\---  
Early morning sunshine peeks in through the hospital room’s windows, sending an icy glow across the sleeping faces of Eliza and her son. The clanking of a radiator gently nudges Eliza awake. Looking down at her son, Eliza smiles and touches Jonathan’s soft skin with the side of her finger.   
“You look just like your father, don’t you, Jonnie?” Eliza murmurs softly to the sleeping infant. Jonnie’s dark hair peeks out from underneath the swaddle in a tiny curl. “I can’t wait for your father to meet you. He’s going to be so excited.”  
A quiet knock penetrates the room. Straightening in the bed, Eliza acknowledges the person on the other side of the door.   
“Come in.”  
“A nurse, her white scrubs immaculately clean, enters the room. Behind her she pulls a tray of tea and biscuits. “Good morning, Mrs. Barnes. Did you sleep?”  
“Yes, thank you.”  
“You have a visitor to see you. Mildred Philips?”  
“My mother.” Eliza runs her hand over her head. “Let me just get into something more appropriate.”   
“Here, let me take baby real quick for you.” The nurse reaches out and gently rolls Jonnie into her arms. A weak cry issues from his lips but evaporated into a tinny whine and then silence as the nurse sways back and forth.   
Eliza pushes herself away to the side of the bed. Swinging her legs to the floor, she rubs her eyes before standing up. Walking over to the chair in the corner, Eliza grabs the dressing gown that was laid across it’s back. Slipping first one arm, then the other, through the floral printed garment, Eliza casts a glance in the mirror. She runs her hand through the tangled tresses that billow over her shoulders. Her face contorts when her fingers catch in a large knot just under her ear; she releases her hair in defeat.   
Turning from the mirror she gently lifts Jonnie from the arms of the nurse. “If you could show her in, please.”  
The nurse nods and exits the room. Eiza moves to the window, swaying back and forth. Her room overlooks a small paved courtyard, where a few concrete benches gather around the skeleton trees. Fall winds have already stolen the tree’s clothing, whisking the leaves into damp piles. Beyond the hospital walls, the song of early morning traffic rings through the air. Lost in her own world, Eliza gently fusses over her son, not focusing on her mother’s impending arrival.   
A few moments later, the nurse opens the door to allow Mildred to enter the private room. Her tweed coat is laying over one arm, a serviceable brown purse held in the other. Her footsteps are heavy, the dark boots encasing her feet. Briskly walking over to her daughter, Mildred clears her throat.   
Eliza faces her mother, her steps small and delicate. She tilts her arm at an angle in order for her mother to have a clear view of Jonnie. “Hello, Mom. Meet Jonathan Barnes.”   
Mildred’s teeth gleam as she smiles at her daughter’s infant. “He is a handsome young man, Elizabeth.” She pauses, examining his face. “Though he looks like he’ll be a colickly baby.”   
“Thank you, Mother.” Eliza says, ignoring the second half of her mother’s statement. “He’s perfect.”  
Mildred steps to the side and lays her coat and purse on the chair. Pulling off her long gloves, she draps them over the coat. Turning back to Eliza, Mildred holds out her arms for the child. Eliza timidly hands Jonathan to her mother.   
“What are his measurements?” Mildred asks, cradling the child in her arms.   
“He weighs six pounds, eleven ounces,” Eliza says, watching her mother beam down at the baby. Pride swells from her small frame, filling the room with a warmth unable to be replicated by any man-made heater.   
“You were only seven pounds when you were born. He is a bit small, but that is the Philips blood in him.”   
Eliza chuckles, unconvinced. “We’ll see. He has his father’s eyes.”  
“But other then that, he looks just like your father,” Mildred concludes.   
Shaking her head, Eliza steps over to the bed and curls up on top of the covers, like a child herself. Her jaw hits her knees as she yawns. “I’m still exhausted.”  
“And you will be for the next few years.” Mildred remarks, continuing to stare at her grandson.   
Eliza’s groan transforms into a laugh. “This is such a wonderful feeling. He’s mine.”  
“That he is,” Mildred says, glancing over at her daughter. “Have you written to James yet?”  
“Not yet. Ruth said she’d write it if I was too tired, but I told her I’d do it today. I need to get a telegram off to Stanton too.” Eliza yawns again.  
“I can send one to your brother when I stop by the telegraph office today. I have to send a telegram to your father anyway, he’s traveling again.”  
“I heard. He’s barely been home, has he?” Eliza asks. “Since the war started, I mean.”  
Mildred inclines her head towards Eliza, before settling her blank expression into a close-lipped smile. “He hasn’t. We talk every week or two on the phone when he’s on the road.”   
“I’m glad,” Eliza says, yawning again. “I can’t say I’m not a bit envious.”  
The door creaks open, and a nurse smiles in to the two women. “I hate to disturb, but you have a visitor, Steve Rogers? He said to let you know his train leaves in an hour.”   
“Send him in.” Eliza directs, pulling herself up into an upright position.   
“He seems nice.” Mildred rocks Jonnie as he stirs.  
Eliza furrows her brow. “Steve? I didn’t think you’d met him.”  
Mildred nods, “Last night. The Captain America show was a smash hit, I managed to get a few seats for the ladies in my quilting club and so we went and met Steve Rogers after the show. He could stand to learn a few tips on talking to women, but he was charming in a blunt way.”  
“Who are you trying to marry off now?” Eliza asks.   
“There’s a few young ladies from some of the best families New York can provide,” Mildred responds, slowly shifting as Jonnie twitches in his sleep.   
“I’m certain they are.” Eliza turns to face the door as another rap rings out. The nurse doesn’t wait for an answer but lets Steve in. He’s changed out of his Captain America uniform and has an army jacket draped over one arm. His other hand is holding a large suitcase.   
“Morning, Eliza.” He greets her. The previous night’s sleeplessness has left no visible signs in his face, and his blue eyes gleam alert.   
“Good morning, Steve.” Eliza smiles at him. He tucks his arms behind his back, smiling back. “I understand that you’ve met my mother.”  
“Mrs. Philips.” Steve bobs his head towards Mildred. “Good to see you again.”  
“Likewise, Captain Rogers.” Mildred turns to give Steve the best view of Jonathan. “You must meet my new grandson.”  
“I’ve met him already,” Steve says bluntly, looking away from Mildred and back to Eliza. Eliza jerks her head towards her mother, telegraphing to Steve that he ought to correct his behavior. “He is a pretty kid.”  
“Steve was with us when I went into labor last night,” Eliza explains, a flush creeping up the back of her neck. “We had just left the theater.”  
Mildred’s lips gather together. “I didn’t know you went to the show last night.”  
“It didn’t come up.” Eliza defends herself weakly.   
“You knew I was there and didn’t think to try to alert me you were in labor.”  
“It all happened very quickly.” The flush has spread into a full blush. “I’m sorry— I didn’t think about it.”  
Mildred steps towards her daughter and abruptly hands Jonathan back to her. “I see.” She turns her back on her daughter and begins putting on her gloves. “I’ll let your father know his grandson looks just like him.”  
“I hope not.” Steve murmurs. “I can only handle one Philips man in my life.”  
Mildred ignores him, continuing to gather her belongings.   
“You don’t have to leave,” Eliza protests.  
“Beth, I am competent enough to see when I’m not wanted.”  
“Mom— that’s now what I meant.”  
“What you say is what you mean.” Mildred nods crisply, her eyes stoically blocking any perception into her emotions. “If you listened to anything I taught you, you would know that. Goodbye, Beth.” Sweeping out of the room, she leaves a thunderstruck Steve and Eliza standing in silence.   
“Eliza—” Steve begins after a moment.   
“Don’t apologize.” Eliza interrupts, the shock hardening into tense lines across her face. “It was bound to come up. But for next time— try not to say anything remotely inflammatory.”  
“Yes, ma’am.” They stand awkwardly for a moment. “I really should be heading to the station.”  
“Of course.” Eliza lays Jonnie down in the small bassinet parked next to her bed and walks over to embrace Steve. “Enjoy your tour.”   
“I will.” Steve smiles, a genuine grin of good humor. “I’ll try not to have too good of a time.”  
“Did you get those shirts of Bucky’s I left on our table for you?”  
“Yes, I did.”   
“And you have your ID and papers?”  
“Yes.” Steve lowers his gaze to meet Eliza’s eyes, the beginnings of tears pushing their way to her skin. “Don’t worry.”  
“If you see Bucky—”   
“I will.” Steve embraces Eliza one last time and hoists his bag. Jauntily striding from the room, he walks down the hallway. Eliza follows him to the doorway, laying her hand on the doorframe as he walks away from her.   
Before he vanishes from her sight, a weak cry pulls her away from the door and to the care of her young son.   
\---  
“Steve’ll be touring till early next year unless we win the war,” Eliza says, forcing an optimistic spin on the last phrase. After a week of gentle rest, she is back on her feet. Jonnie has settled into an infant’s routine of sleep, eat, and repeat rather easily.   
"And Bucky?" Becky pushes a strand of hair away from her forehead with her forearm, beads of sweat dangling off of her face. "Mom hasn't had a letter in a few months. Have you?"  
"Nothing dated sooner than a month ago." Eliza moves the steaming cauldron of water off of the stove, the canning jars inside clinking. "How's Tom? Didn’t Ma say you got a letter?"  
"I got one yesterday. He's doing well, but most of the letter was blacked out. I know they say that the censoring is for the troop’s safety, but sometimes I just want to point to a map and say that's where my husband is." Becky casts a glance over to Eliza, whose face burns scarlet in the heat.  
Eliza nods, "The uncertainty is perfectly awful some days. This batch is cooling. Can I do anything to help on that batch?" She asks, motioning to the row of crystalline jars that Becky is filling with off-white liquid. As the liquid pools around the vegetables in the jars, Becky adjusts her grip on the pot.   
"I'm okay. Why don't you sit down and read something out of the paper? I haven't had a chance to look over it today."  
"I haven't either." Eliza lifts the paper from the hall table and seats herself on the chair facing Becky. Her eyes flicker across the black and white newspaper headlines blaring in large font. "Becky."  
Becky casts a glance behind, offering a half interested, "Yes?" Her eyes flicker to the paper, and Eliza’s knuckles that have faded to white.   
"Captain America rescues Allied POWs." Eliza reads. Flipping the newspaper down, she stares in mute shock at the grainy photo stretching across the bottom of the page. “Becky, look at this.” The intensity in her tone, pulls Becky away from the stove and to her side in an instant.   
Becky leans over the paper, the liquid from her spoon dripping on the floor, splattering like blood. “Where?”  
Eliza’s finger slides over the picture, lingering on a figure to the side of Captain America. Her finger shakes as she takes a shuddering breath. Her back quivers and her forehead burns with a cold sweat. “It’s Bucky, isn’t it?”  
“One way to know.” Becky gently pulls the paper from under Eliza’s arm, setting the wooden spoon on the table. Her voice rings with confidence she doesn’t feel. The paper rustles as she snaps it open along the fold. “Here’s the list. The 107th division.”  
“Is he there?” Eliza asks, pushing her hair back from her face.   
“James B. Barnes, among the rescued,” Becky says, relief flooding her body. She steps back from the table, allowing Eliza space to breathe. The later does so, steadying her shaky breaths slowly.   
The steam blossoming from the stove adds to the overheated room, condensing on the pans hanging against the wall above the stove. The water droplets slowly develop, gradually gaining enough weight to drop from the pans to the stove where they are released, hissing, into steam once more.   
As her breathing stabilizes, Eliza begins to speak, her words slurring together. “I didn’t even know he was MIA. His last letter said I wouldn’t hear from him for a few weeks. I blamed the silence on the mail system.”   
Becky reaches and grabs the spoon off of the table. Turning to the sink, she runs cool water over the smooth wood and avoids making eye contact with her sister-in-law. “He’s safe now.” She says blandly, conviction missing from her tone.   
“I tried not to think about him being KIA’d or lying wounded in a trench. But POW is worse. Oh, Buck—” Eliza breathes in but chokes on a sob, though whether from relief or anguish Becky can’t tell.   
Becky turns back to her Eliza, her own concern sketched on her face. “Shhh.” She comforts, pressing Eliza to her in a half hug and stroking her hair. “I’m certain you’ll hear from him soon.”  
Eliza nods, wiping her eyes. “He’s with Steve, that’s a good thing.”   
“Those two know how to look out for each other.”  
“Yes. Yes they do.” Eliza straightens, schooling her face and stifling her tears. “I’ll read the article, you get back to the preserves.”  
Betsy turns back to the stove, as Eliza finds her place on the first page of the article. “Early this Wednesday morning, November 3rd, a joyful exclamation pulsated through an army camp a few miles behind the front lines in Central Europe. Members of the 107th division marched into the camp led by none other than unmistakable silhouette of Captain America.   
According to sources, after several skirmishes with German forces, the 107th experienced heavy losses and it was assumed that the Germans had captured the majority of the remaining soldiers. Survivors of the battles report that the leadership deemed any rescue attempt likely to fail. Another source revealed that Colonel Phillips had begun writing condolence letters to the families when the unexpected happened.   
Captain America, having just arrived in Europe for the beginning of his troop tour, was unconvinced that a rescue attempt was impossible. Late on the 3rd, Captain America parachuted from a plane a few miles away from where our men were supposedly being held. Breaking into the facility, Captain Rogers recruited our Yankee boys and their allies to fight back against and overwhelm their captors.   
P.L., a member of the 107th for the last two years said, ‘a guy opened the cells, tossed us guns and claimed he’d punched ole Adolf over two hundred times. He seemed a bit off his rocker, but it was the best shot any of us had had yet.’   
And two days later, the cheers soldiers welcomed the returning forces back to safety, the captors becoming the victors. Over a hundred and fifty men were saved by Captain America’s heroic actions.” Eliza reaches over and takes a sip of water, flipping pages over.   
“I don’t want to say that Steve was motivated by Bucky being among the missing, but it’s awfully convenient,” Becky remarks, not hiding the smile blossoming over her face.  
“He could have died. That idiot boy.” Eliza shakes her head, nervous laughter bubbling up in her stomach.   
“But he didn’t. And he saved Bucky. And how many others?”   
“A hundred and fifty the article says.” Eliza stares at the names lined up alphabetically on the opposite page. “He did it. What he always wanted.”  
Betsy nods. “He did.”   
“And I have a feeling this is only the beginning.” Eliza shakes her head, worry knotting in her stomach once more. “Why do I feel like I’m caught in a clothes wringer?”  
A knock rings through the apartment and Betsy lays her spoon on top of the pan. “I’ll get it.”   
“Thank you.” Eliza flips back to stare at the picture of the soldiers. Her eyes stare at Bucky, looking for clues to his well being.   
The door’s hinges squeak as Becky opens the front door. “Yes?”   
“I’m looking for Mrs. James B. Barnes.” A man’s voice says, his feet stamping in the cold.   
“I’ll fetch her.” Becky closes the door, leaving the man standing on the doorstep. ‘Eliza, a man to see you. Do you want me to send him packing?”  
“I’ll see what he wants.” Eliza stands, pausing as Jonathan begins to fuss from the back room. “Will you check on Jonnie please?”  
Becky nods, touching Eliza’s shoulder as she passes. Eliza walks to the door, opening it slowly. “Mr. Stark!” She exclaims, recognizing the man instantly.   
“Mrs. Barnes. It’s a pleasure.” Howard Stark greets her, hands thrust into his trouser pockets.   
“How can I help you? Would you like to come in?” Eliza opens the door wider.   
Howard shakes his head. “Can’t stay. I just came by to deliver a quick message from Rogers. Go to your parent’s house at 0800 on the 7th for news about your husband.”   
“You’ve seen Steve?”  
“Who do you think flew him in through the not so friendly fire?” Howard asks, smirking. “Those fireworks were no joke. You’ve seen the papers?”  
“I have. Have you met any of the men he rescued?” Eliza smiles, her dimples making a slight appearance.   
“No. Pleasure seeing you again, Mrs. Barnes.” Howard tips his hat cockily before striding off towards the stairs.  
Eliza stares after Howard. As a chill wind flickers across the street, she closes the door. Becky stands in the doorway to the bedroom, Jonathan nustled into her shoulder. The newborn’s hair is spiked, messy from his nap. His brown eyes peer over Becky’s shoulder, blinking as widely as a camera lens.   
“Who was that?” Becky asks.   
“Howard Stark. A colleague of my father’s.”   
Becky’s eyebrows shoot up, consternation flooding her features. “That was Howard Stark? I imagined him taller.”   
“He’s not short.” Eliza protests.  
Becky shrugs. “Taller than Steve was, shorter than Bucky.”   
“Can’t argue with your logic.” Eliza reaches her arms out for her son. Becky shakes her head, clutching   
“Please don’t take him yet. He’s so warm.”   
“Well, how can I say no to that request?” Eliza laughs, the joy in her laughter bringing a smile to Becky’s face.   
“I assume Mr. Stark brought good news?”  
“I have to be at my parents’ house at 0800 for news. All I’m hoping is that it’s not bad news.” Eliza runs her hand over her forehead.   
“Go and let Mom know the news. I’ll stay with Jonnie.” Becky orders, a spring in her step as she sways from side to side. Eliza smiles at her sister and quickly pulls her coat around her. Betsy watches as Eliza pulls the door shut behind her.


	10. Rumors of Heroics

“Hello, anyone home?” Eliza calls through the seemingly deserted apartment. “Ma? Davy?”  
“Hullo, ‘Liza.” Davy slides out from his room, his socks slipping on the freshly mopped floor. Grinning cockily, he salutes her. “Lance broke up with Nan, Ma’s trying to console her. Ma kicked me out, said I wasn’t being helpful.”  
“Did you read the paper yet?”  
“Dad took the paper to read on his lunch break. He’s going to be working late tonight.”  
“Look—” Eliza sets the paper on the table, her finger landing on the picture of Bucky. “Bucky—” Her voice catches in her throat.  
“Let me see.” Davy yanks the paper off of the table. “My gosh. Ma! MA!”  
“Heavens above, Davy what’s going on?” Ruth appears from another bedroom, her hands on her hips. Her red apron is streaked with white powder and spots of water.  
“Ma, you’ve got to read this.”  
“What happened?”  
“Captain America happened.” Davy shoves the paper at his mother, the pages crumpling in his clenched fists. “He’s a hero.”  
Ruth scans the front page, skimming over the article. Her fingertips tremble as she reaches the end. “Do we know anything?”  
Eliza draws in a breath of air. “He’s safe back in camp and I’m to see my mother in the morning to receive more news.  
“Why would you have to go there?”  
“Howard Stark said there would be news.” Eliza shrugs. “Can’t hurt anything.”  
Nancy’s gangly figure appears behind her mother, peering over her shoulder. Her mascara is smeared around her eyes, the dark ink contrasting with the puffy red skin around her eyes. “What did Steve do?”  
“Saved over a hundred and fifty men.” Davy announces, pride glowing in his voice.  
Nancy smiles, her grief suddenly evaporated. “Eliza, do you think you could put a good word in for me with Steve?”  
“Nancy!”  
\-----  
“Barnes!” A voice yells through the tent lined with cots. “You in here?”  
“Yes, sir!” Bucky calls back, dropping his pen back on his cot. A half dozen beginnings of letters are scratched out, the lines demonstrating his frustration at the emptiness of words.  
“Report to the Colonel.” The soldier at the far end of the tent orders before vanishing back out into the light sunshine that is warming the drenched soil.  
“The Colonel, eh? Wonder what he wants to see you for?” A red-haired Irishman drawls from the next cot over.  
“If I knew, Dugan, you’d be the first to know.” Bucky runs his hands through his hair, smoothing it down. “That is; if you still got some of those cigars hidden away in your trunk you’re willin’ to share.”  
“You keep your business then and I’ll keep my smokes.”  
Bucky holds his hands out, palms flat. “No deal then.” Stepping into the cool morning, Bucky forces confidence into his gait. The soles of his boots slap hard against the packed dirt. His signature smile slides onto his face, hiding the apprehension brewing in his soul.  
“Sergeant Barnes, here to see the Colonel.” He presents himself to the soldier stationed outside the entrance to the Colonel’s tent.  
The man motions him in. Bucky steps into the tent and removes his cover. A group of men are located around a desk, each muttering indistinct words. Next to Colonel Phillips, Steve runs his finger down the paper. “It’s this one, I’m certain.”  
Bucky fingers his hat, turning the fabric over each of his fingers.  
“Get that out to intel.” The Colonel orders, standing up from his desk. “Andrews, send a final copy of the report to the General. The rest of you finish up, we leave for London tonight.” Steve straightens and catches sight of Bucky standing near the entrance. They exchange a look before the Colonel stands up.  
The group exits the tent, leaving Steve, Bucky, and the Colonel alone in the tent. “Rogers, dismissed.”  
Steve looks about to protest, but Bucky jerks his head towards the door, his confident smile bestowing an air of nonchalance on his demeanor. Steve exits the tent. A moment passes in silence as the Colonel rearranges a handful of papers on his desk. “Did the medics clear you? He asks, fixing his eyes on Bucky.  
“Yes, sir.” Bucky tucks his thumbs in his belt.  
“Roger’s reported you interacted with Johann Schmidt.”  
“Briefly, sir.”  
“What was your impression?” Colonel Philips asks.  
“Of his personality? I was too distracted by the face to make decisions about his personality.”  
The Colonel doesn’t express amusement. “What’s your impression of me, Barnes?”  
Bucky schools his face into a neutral expression. “In what capacity, sir?”  
“What capacity?” The Colonel asks, reigning in his irritated tone.  
“As a private citizen or as a member of my direct line of command.”  
“Both.”  
“I would have to say, you value what you fight for sir.”  
“And your impression of me as a private citizen?”  
“Above my pay grade, sir.” Bucky’s eyes harden, a change barely perceptible to the naked eye.  
“Sit down, Barnes.” Colonel Philips orders, indicating the chair on the edge of his desk.  
Bucky sits, and the Colonel sits across from him. “I would like an answer to that. An honest answer from James Barnes.” The Colonel challenges. He touches his fingers together, waiting expectantly for Bucky’s reaction.  
Bucky pauses, attempting to calculate the Colonel’s response to his words before he speaks. “You are everything I both strive to be and strive not to be.” Bucky meets the Colonel’s eyes. “It would be easy to say I loathe you.”  
“But you won’t.”  
“No.”  
“Why not?”  
“Because the traits I love in my wife she got from you.”  
The Colonel’s clears his throat, obviously not expecting that response. “Hrmph. So, you see a lot of me in Beth?”  
“That’s what I said, isn’t it?” Bucky sinks back against his chair. He lays his arms across his chest. “I don’t really know what you’re playing here, sir; but this feels awfully like the last time I saw you. Right before you disowned Eliza, when I actually cared about your opinion of me.”  
Colonel Phillips sends a glance to the frame on his desk. He stands.”You’ve changed, Barnes.”  
Bucky follows his lead and stands in front of the Colonel. “You haven’t.”  
“You can’t teach an old dog new tricks.” The Colonel gives Bucky the once over. “However, contrary to my daughter’s conviction, I do not want my grandson growing up fatherless.”  
“Yes, sir.” Bucky turns to exit the tent, snapping a salute.  
“Hold it, Barnes. There’s another contact I need you to report to before you leave for London tonight.”  
“London?”  
“Your company is being pulled back to London for reassessment. Rogers has the details. But make that phone call first, the operator will connect you directly.”  
“Yes, sir.”  
The Colonel walks out of the tent and shaking his head, Bucky walks over to the desk and picks up the phone receiver.  
\---  
“Morning, Mom.” Eliza exhales, her eyes sweeping the entryway of her childhood home. Dark carpet lines the halls and stairs, each room opening up into others. To her right the dining room looks out over the street, the manicured avenue lies silent except for the distant chime of the milk cart.  
Mildred gracefully floats down the stairs to greet her daughter. “Beth, this is a surprise.”  
“No, it’s not.”  
“I wasn’t sure you would come with Jonnie being only a week old. Would you like a tour of the redone bedrooms?” Mildred asks.  
“I’m afraid not. I have to get back home shortly. What did Steve send for me?”  
“Let me go grab that for you. Make yourself at home in the parlor.”  
Eliza pushes the door next to her open and stops to examine the parlor. “You’ve completely redone the entire house, haven’t you?” She calls back to her mother.”  
“Not your Father’s study, he’s too stubborn to let me touch anything in there.” Mildred pauses to relate the information back to Eliza. Eliza let herself examine the new wallpaper and chair coverings. “You even replaced the carpet.”  
The phone begins to ring. “Can you get that ‘Beth?” Mildred asks, digging through her desk.  
“I guess.” Eliza reaches over and pulls the receiver off the hook. “Phillips residence, Elizabeth speaking. How may I help you?”  
“Eliza?” The voice that filters through the phone is familiar to Eliza, a voice she’s tried to keep in her mind ever since he left.  
“Bucky?”  
\---  
“How’d it go?” Steve asks, fetching Bucky from Colonel Philip’s tent a half-hour later.  
“About as good as could be expected. I mean, I’m already married to his daughter, he’s too old fashioned to demand I divorce her.”  
“Uh-huh. “  
”That’s all you are going to say about it?”  
“For now.”  
Bucky sticks his hand in his pockets, staring up at the sky. A smile splits across his face as he recalls Eliza’s voice. “I still can’t believe I’m a father.”  
“You might actually have to get your life together now.”  
“My life is plenty together.” Bucky reaches over to sock Steve lightly on the arm but pauses. “I miss the days I could punch you and not worry about it hurting if you punched me back.”  
This earns him an elbow in the side from Steve. Around them, men send salutes towards Steve as the two men walk past. Trucks chug past the tents, their exhaust filling the air with a stench of gasoline. “So, London.” Bucky begins when they reach the tent.  
“London.” Steve agrees, ducking his head to enter.  
“‘Liza loved it when she visited with her family. Maybe we can sneak away and see a few of the sights.”  
“Doubt the Colonel will let me out of his sight long enough for anything fun. There is a war going on, y’know.”  
Bucky smirks. “And I thought this was just an over-glorified holiday.”  
“There were fireworks.” Steve grins, tossing his hat on his cot. “Maybe we can find something decent to drink in London, to make it a proper holiday.”


	11. Wartime Correspondence

November 5th, 1943  
Dearest ‘Liza and Jonathan,  
I can’t tell you how good it was to hear your voice. Golly, that call was a gift from heaven. I hope you do forgive me for my last few letters and didn’t just say that to make me feel any better. The antique shop is an excellent venture, maybe we can make it into a family business. J. Barnes and Son has a nice ring to it.  
I have a new posting, an elite team Steve is leading. Well, that’s the goal anyway. We have the team but the elite aspect is still to be seen. I’ve written to you about Gabe and Dugan before, but the rest of the guys were in Hydra custody with me. There’s Denier, or Frenchie as we call him. No one but Gabe can understand the man, his English is barely understandable and most of our French is nonexistent. You speak French, don’t you? Maybe you could write to him, he seems awfully lonely when Gabe’s not around to translate. There’s actually a few guys that don’t get any letters and could use a line or two from a friendly lady on the homefront. It’d mean a lot to all of them.   
Jim’s from Fresco and carries with him that cocky Western attitude. He tries to makes jokes but most of the time, they just aren’t funny.   
` Lastly, there’s Monty. He’s a Brit, but other than that I don’t have much to say about him yet. Steve must see potential in him, beyond being able to shoot straight. But it’s shaping up to be a great team. Maybe we’ll even make it into the history books.   
Agent Carter said she’s met you, back when Steve first transformed into whatever the heck he is now. She’s a nice girl and Steve is smitten; or as they say over here, he fancies her. I think the feeling is mutual, judging by an interaction that took place this evening. I’ll try to describe it, but I doubt I can adequately capture the scene.   
Steve and I were sitting at a small bar, just to the side of the main room of the tavern. The boys were enjoying themselves, singing drinking songs and putting the ale away faster than you could blink. Well, all of a sudden the songs just stopped. All the guy’s mouths were too busy gaping at Carter as she walked through wearing some red dress contraption. It looked like one of the old dancing dresses you used to wear when I’d pick you up for a date.   
I have to admit she looked pretty darn good. Not as good as you, but good enough for Steve. Whether he’s good enough for her remains to be seen.   
Carter made a comment about going dancing after we finished this blasted war. You know me, Eliza, I’m never one to turn down a fun night of dancing. I asked what we were waiting for, expecting to enjoy the rest of the night jiving to some tunes.   
She didn’t even look in my direction. It was like I’d turned into Steve back before he was Captain America. To her, no one except Steve existed. Which implies she’s just as smitten with him. I’m looking forward to watching the drama unfold.  
Speaking of drama, Steve already dug himself into a hole in this relationship. He also doesn’t know I know this, so don’t drop anything about me telling you yet.   
Steve parachuted behind the Nazi lines to get to where we were being held, and Carter arranged for Stark to fly Steve in. While in the plane, Stark, being the flirt he is, suggested that he and Carter should stop for a “late-night fondue”. Ignorant idiot Steve proceeded to assume that Carter and Stark are a thing and asked her to confirm it. You can guess that went over as well as asking Nan if D’lancy is her beau.   
Have to sign off for now.   
Love,   
Bucky  
P.S. Steve is an idiot. Was just about to post this letter, but had to add that. Longer explanation to follow. Just don’t expect wedding bells between our two favorite lovers anytime soon.   
\----   
Dearest Bucky,  
I understand what you meant, I appreciate the apology.   
Jonnie is doing well, he’s steadily gaining weight. He slept through the night for the first time last night. It felt wonderful to be lost in the deep ocean of sleep and not have a shrill cry pull you up. He’s always hungry, which I suppose means he is your son. How’s the food over there? Any better? I’m sending a care package to you boys next week, don’t blow through the chocolate because rationing is getting even tighter over here.  
I know you were curious about the antique shop, and I didn’t feel like I adequately described how I acquired it. The shop formally concealed an SSR base where Steve received his injections. The day before he underwent the procedure, Nan convinced me to look apply at said antique shop. I was ignorant of the SSR’s connection to Steve or the shop, when I was hired the proprietor briefly trained me. When I say briefly, I mean it. During the aftermath of Steve’s injection, Anne was killed by a German spy. I returned home only to receive a visit a number of days later from an attorney. As Anne had no living relations, I was the most closely associated with her, despite the absurdity of that notion. I received the deed to the shop and have been operating it since then. It doesn’t provide much excess income but it’s giving me something to do. I do like J&J Barnes as a company name better. We have a long time to decide on a name so no hurry.   
I know Ma has sent you volumes of all the gossip that is happening here in Brooklyn, so I won’t bore you with repeat information. Although, I will insert this, merely in case her letter is lost in the incredibly flawed mail service. Davy enlisted yesterday, on his birthday. We all knew he would either be drafted or enlist himself sooner rather than later, but Nancy was convinced he’d listen to her and wait. He came to me directly from the recruiting center, before going up to tell your parents. I believe he wanted backup when he told them. After I scolded him (lightly, less then you would have), I went with him to tell your parents.   
He was hoping to be assigned to a division near you but that seems unlikely given the news of your reassignment. Mentally, Davy’s already in Europe on the front lines, forgetting he has basic and all number of other activities that precede actually shipping out.   
Pa took the news well, said he was proud of the man Davy is becoming. Ma was resigned and buried herself in caring for Jonnie and cooking the rest of the day. There were a number of leftover dishes that weren’t scheduled when we discussed the dinner a few days ago. Nancy did not respond favorably. Despite their bickering, I believe that Nancy and Davy are the closest out of all your siblings. You and Betsy lead the pack, but those two have a bond that I can’t quite wrap my brain around. Anyways, she’s devastated and barely refused to look at him all through dinner except with a scowl. Not unlike the behavior you got from Steve right before you left for basic.   
You can tell Steve to expect a letter from me that will teach him a few lessons about how to act around women. He always said it wasn’t important— well look at him now. Stumbling through a crush as if he was a child. Maybe he’ll actually listen to your advice from now on. Fondue? Really? Between you and me, I laughed harder than I have in weeks. (By the way, we ought to go out to fondue when you get back, it’s divine. It’s one of my favorite meals, our cook knew how to simmer the cheese at a perfect temperature).   
It sounds like you have a good group of guys gathered together. I know you and Steve have each other’s backs, I hope these other soldiers will too. Try not to get into too many scrapes, you’ve got a lot waiting for you here at home. I’ll write a letter or two in a few days when I get more time.   
Hugs and kisses,   
Eliza.   
P.S. did you ever tell Steve you were drafted? I know you still haven’t told your parents or siblings, but I think you should. It might have prevented Davy from enlisting quite so quickly. Not blaming you, just remarking. It won’t change anything but I think you should at least tell them.  
\---

Eliza,   
Just dropping a quick line for Howard to bring to you. All’s well in the front and if you’ve been watching any of the newsreels, you’re sure to see we’ve been staying busy. Hope you don’t hold the lack of letters against me.   
I have a favor for you. Steve’s and my mail is accelerated, making the trip to NY in the priority bins, courtesy of your father. Or so we believe. If the guys in our unit addressed the letters to their families to you could you ship them to their destinations? Mail between the States is faster, isn't it?  
Let Howard know.   
Love,  
Bucky.   
\---  
Mrs. James Barnes,   
I’m writing today to express the gratitude of myself and my fellow men for your gracious acceptance of the proposal we set before you. We greatly appreciate you sending your boys over to help us fight for the greater good.  
Faithfully,  
Timothy Dugan  
\---  
Dear Commandos,  
My name is Elizabeth Barnes, and I’m writing to you to thank you for putting up with my boys. They do get rather unruly at times, and from everything I’ve heard, you all help rationalize their decisions.   
Over here in New York, the war effort is in full swing. The newsreels are full of stories of your adventures. In part due to your success, support for the cause against the Third Reich has never been stronger. The last newsreel I saw had an interview with Steve and I saw every one of you in the background. It was satisfying to put faces to the names. I have seen sketches that Steve has sent me, but it’s not quite the same.   
Did you boys know that Steve drew? He ought to show you some of his work, it’s really quite lifelike.   
I would love to hear any stories that you would like to share, Bucky can only write for so long before his hand cramps and Steve’s taciturn letters don’t share many antidotes. And if there is any specific news you would like to receive I’m certain I can get my hands on that information. In addition, please send any letters for your families to me and I will repost them as necessary.   
Cordially,   
Eliza Barnes.  
\---  
Dear Mrs. Barnes,   
Thank you for the letter. We received it right after a successful mission. It sure was nice to read.   
Any information you can send about sports like the current statistics and season information, I’d enjoy reading. As long as it isn’t too much trouble.   
We just finished a one-handed push-up competition. Agent Carter won, at least that’s what Steve claims. He is such a bad actor, we all know he could have done push-ups all day. I don’t know how the Captain America show fared as well as it did with him at the helm. He’s becoming less clumsy when it comes to combat but Bucky still handles the shield better him. None of the newsreels have shown some of the great shots Bucky gets in during training.   
Sincerely,  
Gabriel Jones   
\---  
Bonjour Madame Barnes,  
It is with the greatest honor I write to you in my own humble language. It has been too long since I’ve written of my beloved country.   
I grew up an hour train ride from Paris. Before the war I was a chemist, studying under the tutelage of some of the greatest minds Paris had to offer.   
Monsieur Barnes spoke of your great travels in Europe preceding your marriage. Where in France have you visited? What did you think of my homeland? Your brother had a chalet in the mountains, correct? Perhaps it was near my great aunt’s chalet, my brothers and I spent years exploring meadows of northern France.   
The Captain and Monsieur Barnes appear to be brothers in every way save blood. They make a jovial addition to any group, although the Captain does appear more reckless when Monsieur Barnes offers his advice against a plan. On patrol, Monsieur Barnes does his best as our sniper to avoid allowing any enemy approach the Captain. This irritates the Captain immensely, and he’ll often disclose Monsieur's position to the enemy so he might actually take part in the fight. That way both remain occupied.  
Many blessings be heaped upon you and your son,   
Respectfully,   
Jacques Denier   
\---  
Dearest Bucky,  
I miss you. We all do, but selfishly, I believe I miss you the most. Can you believe we’ve been married seven years? I honestly can barely comprehend that it’s been that long. I still remember the day vividly, July 17th, 1937. Do you remember how the Reverend was late to the service and Stanton fell asleep in the pew waiting for him to arrive? And then the air conditioning cut out in the middle of the service? And with July being so hot here in NYC- I’m sweating just remembering it.   
We received news of the Battle of ---. It’s a great victory to be sure, but at such a cost. I say this every letter, and I mean it every time. Stay safe. Come home.   
Jonnie is crawling now, I’ve had to barricade off sections of the shop from his inquisitive hands while I work. I’ve begun giving him soft foods, but he is only semi-interested.   
I got a letter from Davy yesterday, he’s been assigned as a courier her on the east coast. I think it was a courier, I don’t recall his exact job. Ma and Pa are pleased, they hope he will be able to visit home more often. With both their son and son-in-law stationed overseas, it’s a relief for them to have Davy nearby. Anyway, he’s doing well.   
Nancy has thrown herself into the war effort fully, swearing not to acquire another beau until German and Japan have surrendered. She might actually do it, as most of the young men are off fighting for Uncle Sam.   
I’ve seen the newsreel of you and Steve a number of times, and your smile makes my everyday better.   
Keep smiling,  
Love   
Eliza.


	12. Pictorial Reunion

The months of 1944 fly by in a blur. Descriptions of Jonnie’s exploits, from new teeth to the first few steps of an unsteady child, find their way across the Atlantic. In return, stories of trials, triumphs, and traumas land in the small apartment in Brooklyn.   
Visits from Mildred, Lottie, Nancy, and the rest of the Barnes clan dot Eliza’s days. Fully occupied she ventures to the cinema as religiously as she attends church to catch a glimpse of her boys in the newsreels. As the weeks progress, the Howling Commandos exploits fill the silver screen more and more. Victory and defeat merge together in a rollercoaster of emotions for Eliza and the family left in New York. The rest of the country follows the adventures of Captain America with bated breath.   
Comics, radio shows, and movies fill the public’s imagination and so does the quaint world confined in the Barnes's apartment.   
——  
“Jonathan James Barnes!” Eliza sprints after her son, sweat gathering on her brow and under her arms. The sun beats down upon the large grass field where picnickers are enjoying a Saturday afternoon. Swooping down upon her son, like a bird on its prey, Eliza turns back to her blanket with Jonnie pinned under her arm.   
He squirms, raising his voice in protest as his mother walks. His small fists beat against Eliza’s skirts. Back at the blanket, Eliza sets Jonnie down next to Peggy Carter.   
Peggy’s brown hair glistens as she tilts her head to smile up at Jonnie. “He moves fast,” she comments. Eliza nods and presses a biscuit into his fist.   
“Keeping pace with him is exhausting. You were saying that you’re in town for a week?”  
“Only for a few days. The Colonel is pulling tight shifts these days.”  
Eliza raises an eyebrow, her voice heavy with humor. “Has the Colonel ever relaxed his grasp over the troops?’  
Peggy hesitates. “No.” She forks another mouthful of salad into her mouth.   
“Has he said anything to you about Steve?”  
“Steve?”  
“Your picture was in the last newsreel.” Eliza prompts. “Pasted in Steve’s compass.”  
Peggy folds her lips, compressing an embarrassed smile. “There is a war on, Eliza— I plan on winning it first.”  
“There’s been a war on for the last few years,” Eliza says, flicking her eyes over to Jonnie, who has since devoured the biscuit and now toddles around with a corn muffin clutched in his fist. “We can’t stop living.”  
Her attempt to divert the conversation derailed, Peggy refuses to meet her companion’s eyes. “It would be a breach of protocol.” Peggy’s gaze drifts to the sky where shattered clouds lay stark against a vivid canvas.   
“There’s no protocol where Steve is concerned.” Eliza touches Peggy’s thigh, gently redirecting Peggy’s gaze to her own.   
“But I have a protocol of my own,” Peggy responds. “I refuse to put a relationship above serving my country.”  
Eliza smiles, her lips guarding words she wants to say. “Would you like to talk about something else?”  
“Please.”  
“More tea?” Eliza offers.  
“Thank you,” Peggy says. “Michael would have liked Steve.”  
“Michael?”  
“My brother. He was Army.”  
Eliza immediately identifies the subtext in Peggy’s ‘was’, and flips her attention to her son. Jonnie’s flushed face flickers from the flocks of birds gathered on the green grass to the picnic basket. Eliza’s arm lays across the top of the wicker basket, it’s imprint engraving into her forearm. “Tay-toe.” Jonnie’s voice splits through the women’s thoughts.  
“Tay-toe?” Eliza echoes. “You want a potato?”  
Jonnie reaches to the basket, attempting to lift the lid. “What do you say, Jonnie? Please?” Eliza prompts.   
“Peas.” He repeats, jumping an inch in the air. His feet barely rise from the ground before he is sprawled on the blanket, having lost his footing. As if made of rubber, he returns to his feet. “Peas.” He begs, clutching Eliza’s skirts.   
“Since you asked so nicely. I’m going to miss you!” Eliza pulls her son up into her arms, squeezing him despite his squirming.   
Peggy looks over in surprise. “Are you going somewhere?”  
“Jonnie is going to Seattle to visit some family while my brother and I do some work on the antique shop. I’ll be headed out to Seattle the week after.”  
“We all do, don’t we,” Peggy comments and watches the clouds swim across the sky.   
\----

The shrill train whistle splits the humid air as the iron beast rocks and sways away from the platform with a halting pace. Crowds of people dissipate as the train vanishes from view, and yet for every person leaving the platform three more arrive. Clouds burdened with rain hold lightning in their dark clutches, not releasing the storm imprisoned inside. Tension fills every square foot of the platform as people rush to reach their destinations.   
Eliza walks alongside Stanton, her gaze flickering back to the billowing grey smoke trailing behind the train. A briefcase rests comfortably against his leg, clasped in his left hand. His right arm is extended to his sister, who’s own purse is flipped over her shoulder.  
“He’ll be fine.” Stanton looks to her sister. “Marcy will get him safely to Seattle.”  
“I’ve just never been so far away from him.” Eliza protests.   
“And you’ll see him next Sunday. He’s older than you were when you were shipped out to visit your grandparents.”  
Eliza’s purse swings as she dodges a crowd of pedestrians with practiced ease. “Jonnie isn’t visiting his grandparents.”  
Stanton sighs. “He’s visiting his Uncle Stanton’s favorite city.”  
“While his uncle is in New York. Don’t talk about yourself in the third person.”   
“Beth— this is a vacation for you and for your son.”  
“I know, I know.” Eliza forces a laugh. “A week by myself, with no distractions from my little scoundrel of a son. Oh, excuse me—” Eliza brushes past a man, her purse hitting his chest. The strap tangles in his arm as he tries to move away. “I’m so sorry.”   
“Don’t worry about it, ma’am.” The man looks down at Eliza and meets her eyes. “‘L—”  
“James!” In a whirlwind of bags and emotion, Eliza is swept up into her husband’s arms. His arms cradle her torso, her feet are a foot off the ground as they spin, oblivious to the world around them. “What are you doing here?”   
“Just got off that train, headed to see you and Jonnie,” Bucky explains, hugging his wife closer, only releasing her to greet Stanton.   
Stanton greets his brother-in-law with a firm handshake and gently guides the couple to the side of the platform.   
“Jonnie,” Eliza repeats, her face falling. “How long are you in town?”   
“Just today. Meeting Steve up at the airfield tomorrow morning. He had to brief the Pentagon or something like that.”  
Her feet firmly on the ground, Eliza swivels to face her brother. “How fast—”  
Stanton shakes his head, cutting his sister off. “Not possible. There aren’t any other trains leaving until tomorrow morning. ”   
Eliza’s face falls, her hands clutching Bucky’s jacket until it crinkles in her fist. He looks down at her, his face tanned dark by many days in the elements. “What’s wrong?”  
“Jonnie just left on that train, going to visit Marcy.”  
“In Seattle?” Bucky forces out.  
Eliza buries her face against her husband’s shoulder. “You can’t stay longer?”  
“No.” Bucky’s face is flushed, and he grips Eliza tighter. “I thought surprising you would be fantastic— I didn’t think you might have plans.”  
“I’m sorry,” Eliza bites her lip, tasting blood. Bucky sighs and slaps a smile on his face, slightly pained.   
“Nothing to be done. Well, if you are available, will you give me a tour of this antique shop I’ve heard so much about?”  
“Absolutely. We were just headed there.” Eliza links her arm through her husband’s and leads the way out of the train station.  
—-  
A scent of basil still lingers in the air hours after the Barnes finish dinner. “Steve has grown so much in the last year,” Bucky says, a half-glass of wine resting in his calloused fingers. Eliza is curled up next to her husband, cradling a small picture album in her lap. The photo book is opened to a picture of Jonnie with Nancy outside the zoo. Bucky’s eyes float back to Jonnie’s picture every few minutes, even though the subject has shifted. “He’s grown into a leader that commands respect. Rumor has it even the Red Skull holds the smallest respect for that punk.”  
“He’s certainly grown.” Eliza yawns, her fingers fanning over her open mouth. As the yawn ends her fingers travels up her face to rub her eyes. “You’ve hinted that it’s really changed things between you two—”  
“It’s not just that ‘Liza. It’s the war, too. It does things to your mind… you do things— that can’t be undone or forgotten.” Bucky’s cheek twitches while opaque mist settles over his irises.   
Shifting in her husbands grasp, Eliza burrows deeper into the cocoon of his arms. His muscles flex as he tightens the cocoon around her. “Is it selfish to say I never wanted you to go?” She murmurs into his shirt.   
“It’s selfish for me to want to stay. While people are dying— or living under the tyrants who support the Third Reich.” Bucky’s eyes fill with venom. “I can’t stay— even if—”   
When his voice dies in his throat, Eliza doesn’t press the conversation. The silence buries the unspoken words as the couple languidly drifts off into sleep's dark ocean.


	13. Rend

“It was a good visit.” Bucky slides another box of ammo towards Steve. “Load this, will you? We talked a lot. I saw my parents and Nan for a few hours. Saw a bunch of pictures of Jonnie, ‘Liza’s been good ‘bout capturing memories.”  
Outside, the wind rattles the frozen tent straps. Snow flurries whip across the drifts, the sharp particles digging into every surface. “I’m sorry you missed him,” Steve says, his hands diligently sorting the ammunitions.  
“Me too.” Bucky scowls. “Some cruel trick that was. I finally get home to see them and he’s on a train halfway across the country.”  
The tent flap flies open as the rest of the Commandos flood in, flocking to retrieve their equipment from the lockers. “That intel solid, Cap?” Gabe asks, his cap crooked on his head.  
“As solid as your chance to date Rita Hayworth.” Bucky swings Steve’s shield over his arm. Steve walks to a trunk, unlocking the padlock holding the lid closed and pulls out a rifle.  
“So... airtight.” Gabe grins at the group, their raucous laughter filling the tiny room.  
“Trade you.” Steve offers Bucky his rifle, the M1928A1 Thompson’s wood stock gleaming in the lantern light. Bucky flips Steve’s shield over his arm, finding satisfaction in the whoosh of air over metal.  
“I don’t know, Cap, Buck looks pretty content to me.” Dum Dum wipes the melting snow gathered on his mustache away.  
“It’s perfectly balanced.” Bucky spins the shield in his palm, releasing the disk in an underhand throw.  
Gabe catches it tossing it to Denier who runs his fingers across the rim. “Oui.” He agrees.  
“Hand it over.” Steve tosses the rifle to Bucky and turns to Denier. Bucky fixes his gun to his back, the leather straps taut against his chest. Denier sends the shield to Dum Dum who tosses it back to Bucky.  
“We’ve got a timetable to keep.” Steve squeezes past Monty to wrestle the shield from Bucky’s arm. Chuckling, Bucky releases the shield to Steve’s grip.  
“If this op is as airtight as you think we’ll be dancing our way across the Atlantic home next week,” Bucky says, falling in step behind Steve, who slings the shield onto his back. The commandos tunnel into the murky night, their Captain leading the way to the jeeps.  
—  
The moon has just cleared its zenith and has begun to set when the commandos reach the SSR Prison with Armin Zola in tow. Steve leads the group, his face chiseled in anger. The unwilling Swiss scientist is led away Gabe and Monty, their fingertips laying lightly on the triggers of their guns.  
Colonel Philips meets the rest of the Commandos outside of his office. “Did you get that sick son—” He asks, trailing off as Steve nods.  
“He’s downstairs.” Steve motions for the Commandos to disperse. Silently, the group splits apart, each man heading in a separate direction. The Colonel has already turned back to his office.  
“Sitrep, Rogers.” He barks, stalking over to a map.  
“We lost,” Steve says, following the Colonel inside.  
“Did or did you not get Zola?” The Colonel’s voice bites through the room. The heaters on the wall rattle, filling the silence. “Rogers—”  
“We lost Bucky.” The bile rises in the back of Steve’s throat, his eyes barely focusing. He clenches his fists, the leather gloves in his fist contorting into a ball.  
The words dull the entire room for both men. The Colonel leans over his desk, his palms flat against the oak. In the dull lighting, the beads of sweat shine from his forehead. A steady rush of air filters through his nostrils as he breathes in, only for it to exit his lungs in a quick burst. He mutters a few nearly unintelligible sentences, littered with profanities.  
“How?” The Colonel’s malignant stare fixes on the map where H’s of various sizes lie, taunting him. “Never mind it. Put it in your report.”  
“Yes, sir,” Steve says. The Colonel walks through the door leading into an inner office. Steve lingers by the hall door. His eyes wander around the room as he notes hairline cracks in the paint.  
The Colonel’s footsteps thud across the inner office, rattling the chairs. His cracked fingers slide under stacks of papers as he moves to file them. Crossing in front of the office door, he sees Steve waiting by the hall.  
“Was there something else, Rogers?”  
“Sir, I’d like to deliver the news to Eliza myself.” Steve strides to stand directly in the Colonel’s line of sight. “She deserves to hear it from me.”  
Papers rustle as Colonel Philips slams the stack on the desk. “I need you here. It’s only a matter of time till Zola spills intel and your team needs to be at the ready.”  
“Colonel—” Steve begins to protest.  
“That’s an order, Rogers. You can tell Beth after you bring me the body of Johann Schmitt. Let her live in ignorance a few weeks longer.” Colonel Philips swivels away from Steve. “Dismissed, Rogers.”  
“Sir.” Steve exits the room in silence.  
\---  
“How is he?” Dugan asks Peggy Carter as the pre-mission briefing concludes.  
“He’ll make it.” She shakes her head. Her hair gleams under the dim lights. “It’s never easy to lose a brother, related or not, but Steve won’t fold.”  
“I hope you are right, Carter.” Dugan runs his hand over his forehead. “If Schmitt decides to shoot-now-talk-later when Cap rings the doorbell, we might be prepping two funerals.”  
Peggy’s gaze rakes across the room, landing on Steve and Howard, the latter clutching a shot glass in one hand. Her eyes latch on to Steve’s hunched back, envisioning his steely gaze in her mind. “Watch out for yourself, Dugan.”  
“You too, Peg.” Dugan splits from her side to join Howard and Steve at the bar. Pausing a few feet away, he catches the last few sentences of their hushed conversation.  
Steve lowers his drink. “I’ll either make it or I won’t. Tell Eliza about Bucky. If I don't make it out.”  
“Don't be an idiot, Steve.” Dugan snaps, his temper boiling beneath his tone. Steve swivels, standing up to face Dugan. His abandoned stool rotates behind him, creaking eerily. Howard reaches out his hand to steady the stool.  
Dugan and Steve stand level to each other, their height evened out by Dugan’s ever-present bowler hat. Their eyes bore into each other, the determination flicking between the two. Dugan clasps Steve on the shoulder, his eyes flickering to glance at Howard. Howard shrugs, then leans back in his chair.  
Turning his eyes back to Steve, Dugan begins to speak. “You better not be revising that completely risk-free op we just spent six hours planning.”  
“If I can take the shot, I will.”  
Dugan drops his arm and leans against the bar. Pulling his hat off he sets it in front of him, fiddling with the brim. “We don’t trade lives, Steve.”  
Steve folds his arms over his chest, his voice brittle. “Yeah, well, no one told Bucky,” he snaps, turning away in silence.  
Dugan slumps back onto Steve’s abandoned bar stool, the half-finished beer in front of him. “How well do you think he’ll stick to the plan tomorrow, Stark?”  
Howard shrugs. “Don’t ask me. I just make the guns, I don’t tell you where to shoot.”  
“Let’s keep it that way,” Dugan says. “Least till this is all over.”  
—  
“We did it, boys.” Dugan looks around at the commandos who sit in jump seats in the back of a transport. His voice rises in an attempt to drown out the engines bellowing to the sides of the team. Peggy sits next to him, her face as stoic as one of Medusa’s victims.  
“Perhaps you might wait till we reach HQ.” She yells through the roar. “You’re wasting your words.”  
Dugan nods and leans forward on his knees. The plane vibrates under the commandos boots, rattling the guns they stashed in the corner of the transport upon entry. Raindrops stream across the only two windows the plane offers. Clouds obscure any view of the horizon, but Gabe still gazes out of the left window.  
As the storm intensifies outside, the plane lurches up and down with the turbulence. Howard’s dark head appears in the door to the cockpit. “It’s gonna be a rocky landing, looks like we might get stuck here overnight,” he yells back to the Commandos.  
Rising from her seat, Peggy grabs a strap dangling from the ceiling. “No. I don’t care what kind of magic you have to perform to get us in the air, but we are not waiting another night to get back to the states!” she yells, her voice claiming everyone’s attention. “We have to beat the papers.” The skin on her knuckles drains their color, as she clings to the strap.  
Dugan stands, nearly bent double in the compact cargo area. Above him the planes structure shutters under the fierce winds. Dugan’s arm cradles Peggy’s waist supporting her when he pries her fingers from the strap. He guides her down to her seat.  
Peggy traces her fingertips over the textured imprint the strap left on her palm, biting back tears. “He did it.”  
“He did it.” Dugan echoes, just loud enough for Peggy’s ears. “And you’ll get there first, Stark’ll make sure of that.”


End file.
